So Sue Me
by lunakatrina
Summary: My take on Harry's first year starting with him getting his letters. Add a lot of sarcasm, stir, and serve cold.
1. So Sue Me

Okay, the basic premise of this fic is: what if Harry had an ounce of self-preservation and the vocabulary and sarcasm of a seventeen year old, how would this affect his school years...this is the result.

This fic starts when Harry starts getting his letters.

disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter, and then everyone would really, really wish I didn't

**So Sue Me**

Harry had just been sent by his uncle to get the mail…Harry sighed and stomped out into the hallway to get the mail. Ruddy cousins and uncles to lazy to do anything…Harry knelt down to pick up the letters and one, in a strange envelope, slipped out of his grasp. It landed face-down. Harry frowned at it and picked it up, flipping it over, deciding to see who it was for—maybe it was a rejection letter from Smeltings for Dudders the mini whale.

Harry snickered and entertained the thought of Dudley, the mini whale; being transferred to London Zoo…traffic would be backed up for kilos, say nothing of the potholes.

Harry plopped the letter back on top of the stack, and started heading back into the kitchen when the green ink caught his eye…it was addressed to Harry Potter!

Harry thought fast and shoved the letter under the carpet, he could get it later as long as no one saw it and headed back into the kitchen quickly so as not to raise suspensions. Harry put the letters down next to Uncle Vernon and quietly sat down, his heart racing like a fox's.

Harry needn't have worried; he went unnoticed as he normally did.

So, after cleaning up breakfast Harry slipped out of the kitchen and snagged his letter escaping outside behind one impeccably trimmed bush, he opened it and couldn't believe his eyes…

Christ, Dudley was getting dumb. Like Harry didn't recognize this font, he rolled his eyes and tossed the letter away. Harry didn't want to give Dudley yet another reason to tease him at school…

* * *

"I suggest you get liposuction before you give yourself a heart attack trying to catch me!" Harry yelled from his perch on top of the swing set. Harry still hadn't figured out how he'd gotten up here, but it was rather amusing to watch Dudley and his gang try to get him down.

Dudley collapsed on the ground panting.

"There," Harry exclaimed, "once more and you might set off an earthquake."

Dudley growled and began turning bright red, Harry began to worry he might actually be having a heart attack. But as it turned out Harry was the one in immediate danger.

From an owl attack—in broad daylight no less, and if that didn't beat all it was holding a letter same font and ink color as the last one.

"Torturing owls now, Duddy?" Harry demanded, and he carefully caught the owl, gently untying the letter and setting the owl loose. As expected Dudley bristled at the use of the pet name, Harry mentally scored one for Harry.

Harry opened the letter and his head tilted it was the exact same letter! Harry looked down at Dudley, who'd now decided hitting Harry with rocks—when he found some—would be the best way to get him down.

Harry sighed and balled the letter up, only to be met with an accusing hoot from the owl that hadn't left.

Harry stared at it.

The owl waited.

"You want a reply?" Harry demanded, more of Dudley than the owl. The owl settled down next to Harry on the swing-set.

Harry unrolled the paper and flipped it over, digging in his pocket for a pencil and found one he began writing and reading out what he wrote. Harry was not going to be able to go home tonight if the look on Dudley's face was anything to go by…well, he couldn't go home if wanted to remain in one piece.

"Not only that," Harry jotted down, "but you must've been institutionalized because Christ knows the only place wizards exist are up your bloody arse…"

Harry then signed his name with a flourish, finishing, "…Harry Potter."

Harry calmly held the letter out to the owl. It held one of it's talons out and Harry took the string the letter came tied up in and attached the letter to the owl.

The owl hooted and flew away.

* * *

"Well, it appears to be one of the letters, another one from Harry Potter. But it looks as though he's opened it."

Dumbledore was studying the crumpled parchment he'd received at the breakfast table, and was now explaining to the professors at Hogwarts what the messy piece of parchment was.

"Well, go on," Professor McGonagall encouraged, "Read what the boy wrote."

Dumbledore's eyes lit up with a fierce twinkle and he rubbed his palms together excitedly and then read the letter.

"…Sincerely hoping you get some brain cells, Harry Potter. P.S. write me again and I'll call the cops."

All the teachers stared in shock.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "The boy is clearly quite confused…how about we pay him a visit tomorrow to clear things up for him."

* * *

"Boy get that."

Harry sighed and stood up from the breakfast table and walked out into the hallway heading to the front door.

The doorbell rang again.

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon yelled again.

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the door, staring at the two men and the woman behind it…mainly at their strange dress. They wore long draping…dresses? Mainly black, and the old man who couldn't be less than two hundred with a beard doing down to there was dressed in bright green and magenta with a tall pointed hat that effectively countered his beard. Harry tilted his head and fought the urge to slam the door shut.

"What in _hell_ are _you_ selling?"

"May we come in, my dear boy?" The old man asked, his bright blue eyes twinkling in a very freaky manner.

"Not until I get a background check," Harry replied, "and some credentials."

The old man shared a look with the woman and man, and then asked, "May we please speak with your aunt, my dear boy?"

Harry put his hand on his hip and stared the adults down and then replied, "I don't know, can you be left alone in a room with a normal person, unsupervised?"

"Who is it boy?" His uncle demanded, from the kitchen.

"They're either selling weird dresses," Harry replied, "or they want us to join a cult."

Aunt Petunia rushed out into the hall, and upon seeing the people gathered at the door promptly passed out. Harry spared her a second's glance before declaring, "I fully blame you for that."

* * *

Aunt Petunia moaned while she sobbed, rocking back and forth the ice pack on her forehead. Harry stared at her in absolute annoyance, while Uncle Vernon glared at him for daring to look at someone who was "superior" to him—way to sound Nazi Uncle Vernon.

"And that, Mr. Potter, is simply the fact of the matter," Dumbledore finished.

"So let me get this straight," Harry began.

"No," Uncle Vernon yelled, "we won't let you take him to that freak school of yours! We've been trying to beat this freakish—"

Harry kicked the glass coffee table violently, and everyone in the room stared at him as a glass knick-knack teetered precariously. Harry smiled pleasantly and continued, "So let me get this straight, you want me to come to this school of yours and learn witchcraft."

"Wizardry," The older woman, called McGonagall corrected without a thought.

"And then you want me to," Here Harry's brow furrowed, "bang this fellow Voldemort?"

The woman and the younger man flinched, and the woman corrected him with, "You-know-who!'

"No, I don't know who," Harry replied.

"She means Voldemort," Dumbledore replied, smiling gently. The woman and man flinched.

"Yeah," Harry said blinking in confusion, "that's what I said."

"The name Voldemort," they flinched, Harry decided he was going to have to see if that worked on everyone, "frightens many people," Dumbledore explained. "They prefer to refer to him as you-know-who."

"But if you were planning a surprise party," Harry asked, "would everyone think you were throwing a party for Voldemort? Like: what are you getting you-know-who for the you-know-what'?"

Dumbledore tugged on his beard, and replied thoughtfully, "Well…"

"Or what if you were talking to someone about their crush," Harry asked, "would everyone think you wanted to go with Voldemort? Like: 'You know who will definitely like that dress on you.'"

"I don't—"

"Or what if your friends were talking to you about someone you didn't like," Harry proposed, "would you think they were talking about Voldemort? Like: 'you won't believe what—"

"In those cases!" Dumbledore interrupted loudly, "he is referred to as he-who-must-not-be-named."

"Oh, yes," Harry muttered, "that's definitely better; you have no idea how much that cuts down on confusion."

Harry's sarcasm was clearly not appreciated, he vaguely wondered if he would get detention like he did in school. They always checked other and wrote "condescending tone" next to it, it upset Harry because in such cases they overlooked his fantastic vocabulary. It should be "condescending tone and diction."

"Well, my dear boy—"

"What are you a pervert?" Harry demanded, "Because I can assure you, I'm not your dear anything…unless you pay in me in small countries and magical creatures. Then I'm sure we could work something out."

The older people appeared to not get it, but the vaguely ugly black haired man raised an eyebrow in question. Harry could tell the man liked him.

Or at least his sarcasm.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, "there is nothing to fear in a name—"

"You're preaching," Harry said pointedly, "a creative writing teacher of mine said preaching was terrifically bland in a story, and that teenagers are particularly susceptible to it…_someone_ should really watch out for it." (/author coughs in corner/ sorry about that…)

Dumbledore blinked.

"Right, so back onto topic," Harry said clapping his hands, "you want me to go to your little school, learn witchcraft—"

"Wizardry!"

"It said 'and!'" Harry retorted, "I'm perfectly all right in omitting one. Where was I? Ah, yes, wear your strange little _dresses_, and wave my _magic wand_ to cast spells? Did I leave anything else?"

"Yes, that pretty much sums it up," Dumbledore replied calmly, clearly missing any sort of innuendo Harry might have implied.

"Sounds utterly delightful," Harry muttered, "it's too bad I don't get off on that sort of thing."

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "the term starts on September first, but you will need to go shopping sometime before then. I think it would be best if I sent Hagrid along—"

"Albus!" McGonagall chastised. "I certainly don't think—"

"Perhaps you're right," Dumbledore mumbled thoughtfully, Harry rolled his eyes heavenward. "We should send him with the Weasleys."

Harry's eyes snapped to Dumbledore, and he demanded, "The _whats_?"

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully and she conceded, "They do have two children about his age."

"And their young daughter," Dumbledore chuckled, McGonagall playfully slapped him, "yes, I imagine it is a bit early for that."

Harry muttered, crossing his arms, his brow furrowed in anger. "I probably won't like her anyway. If you like her, it's a pretty good I sign I won't."

"Now, Mister Potter," McGonagall chastised lightly, "you must make your own decisions about these things."

Harry rolled his eyes and this drew a slight sarcastic chuckle from the silent, dark haired man who hadn't said a word in the entire visit. Harry couldn't remember the man's name.

"Very true, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said in agreement, "opinions are not just something you gather from other people you know."

Harry's eyebrows hit his hairline (Alliteration!) and he stared at Dumbledore and McGonagall in a mixture of shock and annoyance. Harry vaguely wondered if he should inform them that they were currently trying to influence his opinion, but they quickly dropped the subject.

"I think that we should certainly send young Harry to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys," Dumbledore said again, "it would give him a good chance to see the magical world and make friends before he began school."

"You're being awfully optimistic," Harry told him, "me? Make friends? In one day? I have to say that the likelihood of you being turned into a superhero in a freak volcano accident is greater than me making friends."

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore continued gently, "I'm sure Ron and Ginny will surely like you just the way you are, there's no need to be self-conscious."

Harry scrunched up his eyebrows and asked, "Can you hear or are you just not paying any attention to a word I've said?"

Dumbledore didn't even bat an eyebrow, so Harry decided he was clearly deaf and so was the lady, "Now then, Severus, if you would give Mr. Potter his list of school supplies, we'll be heading out, and we'll owl you when the shopping excursion is to begin."

The man in black reached into his weird dress…thing and pulled out a letter just like the ones he though Dudley had been sending him. Clearly the whole situation was much more complicated that Harry had given it credit for.

These people were deaf escapees of a mental institution!

It all made sense now…and it of course only made sense that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been in the same hospital, because they were all nuts!

Harry felt much better now.

Harry took the letter from the man's long, skinny, yellow, stained hands, and then stared at it.

"Very well, then we will take our leave," Dumbledore declared and the three people in dresses headed to the door. It was then that Harry caught sight of his Uncle's livid eyes, and decided that these crazy cult members were better than the people he was forced to live with.

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed, "You aren't going to leave me here, are you?"

"Well, I certainly don't see why not, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied, and Harry decided to let the dear boy thing slide in favor of getting away from his crazy relatives that were probably going to beat him half dead.

"You can't just leave me here," Harry yelled, "I mean these people," he waved his hand at his aunt and uncle, "are like pure evil…at least to me. If you leave me here, I'll die!"

"I highly doubt that," Dumbledore replied, but he at least looked like he was halfway listening to Harry now.

Harry glanced at his enraged aunt and uncle and decided he needed to act fast.

"I'll show you where I sleep!" Harry declared.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon exploded, "after all we've done for you!"

"Why don't we show them what all you've done for me, Uncle," Harry replied, "if you're so proud of it, well, come on, this way freaks in dresses, come see my bedroom."

Harry walked past them, toward the stairway, "Just have to go around here," Harry told them, "not hard to get here, doesn't require much effort.'

The three adults meandered their way over to him and then stopped when they saw where Harry was standing. Harry beamed and reached out for the door to the cupboard and could hear his aunt shrieking about ungrateful freaks, while his uncle threatened his well-being.

Harry threw my door open and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is where I sleep."

To Harry's surprise the severe younger man turned to look at Dumbledore looking a bit shocked, and the woman also turned to look at him, though she was glaring.

"I hate to say I told you so in light of such a situation," she said, angrily, "but Albus, I told you so."


	2. And Just Think

**A big thank you goes out to all of my reviewers, I love you all!**

Another thank you to timydamonkey for her help during this chapter, as well as a couple of lines...that I can't remember now...one's in the soap scene...and the other's with lucy...she's awesome though...and slammin' to a degree...I'll stop now...

_Chapter Two: And Just Think!_

Harry grinned widely as the woman, Auntie Minerva, as she'd asked to be called, held his hand and led him across the lawn of the school. She hadn't stopped laying into Dumbledore since Harry had shown them his "bedroom."

"No, they're his own flesh and blood, you said, well apparently that doesn't as mean as much to some people as it does to you," she chastised, "and how did you not notice this? Didn't you bother to check in on poor little Harry once?"

"Yeah," Harry asked, mock-pouting, "didn't you bother to check on poor little Harry?"

"And just think, this little boy would have lived with them for years if he hadn't written back to us," she continued, "no wonder the poor dear was so skeptical, with those wretched muggles caring for him."

"Yeah," Harry said again, "just think."

"And I told you they were wretched people, but did you listen?"

"I don't think he did," Harry declared.

"No, he didn't," Auntie Minerva said to Harry, "because he's going senile."

Dumbledore remained silent, but he looked like he wanted to say something.

"You don't you even think of trying to defend yourself," Auntie Minerva told Dumbledore, "_you_ did this to this poor little boy, you have one life placed in your hands and you go and allow him to live in such horrid conditions. You just can't handle any responsibility can you? You can only run this school, you don't even know how to handle children, has it been so long since you taught?"

"You know," Harry said, "I'm looking at him, and I'm thinking he's just completely lost touch with the proper care children need."

"I fully agree!" Auntie Minerva huffed, "Lily and James should be rolling in their graves from what you've done to their precious, only son."

"And just think!" Harry exclaimed, "What would happen if they had killed me."

Auntie Minerva inhaled deeply and it appeared Harry had started yet another rant, boy were these people fun.

"Albus," She shrieked, "those people could have killed him!"

"Damn straight," Harry agreed, "and they've come pretty close too."

Auntie Minerva glared deeply at Dumbledore and yelled, "You leave a poor orphaned child with people who try to kill him! What if he'd gotten the flu, they wouldn't have taken him to the hospital, they would have locked him up in that little closest and only checked on him when he started smelling!"

"And you would have left me with them!" Harry exclaimed in mock-horror. Then they hit the crest of a hill and Harry saw their destination, "Whoa."

"Harry, dear," Auntie Minerva said smiling, "this is going to be your new home."

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, "he can't stay here."

Auntie Minerva puffed up in anger, and Harry smirked at Dumbledore and mouth, "you've done it now."

"He can and he will!" Auntie Minerva yelled, "Where else does the poor dear have to go?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, "would you leave me to rot in a gutter somewhere?"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, trying again, "I don't think an empty school would be the best place for a young man—"

"You're absolutely right," Minerva exclaimed, "I'll send Harry to my niece. She'll take care of him," she told Dumbledore pointedly. "Come on Harry, let's get you inside and I'll firecall my niece."

Auntie Minerva took hold of Harry's hand again and pulled him away from Dumbledore and Snape and up to the castle.

* * *

"Now," Auntie Minerva said as she opened the rooms next to hers that Harry was supposed to be sleeping in, "we'll just get you settled in here while we wait for my niece to get back into town and then we'll see if she'd be willing to take you in. Though I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." 

Harry followed behind her, careful to keep from reacting overly much. But whenever he looked at something in amazement Auntie Minerva wouldn't say anything condescending which was something new for Harry, but that didn't mean he wanted to let his guard down.

"Why exactly can't I stay here?" Harry asked, "What's so great about your niece?"

"Well, I'm sure you would like to be around children your own age for the next two months," Auntie Minerva replied, unfazed, "you couldn't possibly amuse yourself here."

"You'd be surprised," Harry replied, "besides I don't really care about kids my own age, because guess what—I'm a stuck-up, condescending twat and I really don't care. So you'd be more likely to snog a purple kangaroo dragon that's married to a mouse more so than I would be to make friends."

Auntie Minerva spared him a glance at this and then realized, "Oh, it's almost tea time, let me call a house elf to get us tea."

"A what?" Harry demanded and then one of the little things popped into the room, and Harry fell flat on his ass and stared at it like it was the thing that came from under the sink. "What in hell is that thing?"

"It's a house elf," Auntie Minerva replied, unfazed, "she'll be getting us food."

"Whoa, that thing is going to be around my food?" Harry demanded as he pushed himself off the floor, "That thing's like a special effect gone way, way wrong…or some distant insect relative of Yoda. That thing's too scary for Sesame Street, the kids would have nightmares—"

"The _thing's_ name is Lucy," Auntie Minerva cut in sharply.

Harry didn't stop for breath and finished, "Hi, my name's Harry, it's nice to meet you Lucy."

"Oh Lucy is very happy to be meeting you too!" The elf squeaked happily, "MISTER HARRY POTTER SIR! Lucy did not ever think Lucy would get to meet Mister Harry Potter, sir, the others will be so excited—"

Then the thing just popped right out of existence just as quickly as it'd appeared. Harry's brows shot up and he turned to stare at Auntie Minerva.

"What," Harry demanded, "do you feed these things? Do they all act like they're on crack or do they just take steroids or something?"

"They just enjoy cooking and cleaning to an almost zealous degree," Auntie Minerva replied, blandly, and then the elf appeared with piles of sweets and tea.

"Lucy is brining all things that little boys like eating," She declared, "Lucy will be very pleased to bring anything yous be needing."

Then she popped away again and Harry asked, "Are they so zealous about cooking I shouldn't eat the food for fear of strange bodily fluids?"

Auntie Minerva coughed on her tea and set it back down on the table and Harry grinned as he realized she hadn't thought of that before.

"I mean if they get that happy at the prospect of cooking, then it would only make sense that they might get off by actually cooking," Harry continued, "I mean it's like going out to a restaurant—you never know whether or not someone's done it at your table…or if a girl wore a short skirt and no underwear…or do you not have to worry about elves that way because they're incapable of getting _that_ excited."

"Harry, dear, come along," Auntie Minerva said slowly, "we're going to the three broomsticks—it's a pub in Hogsmeade."

"You mean it's a gay threesome bar," Harry corrected. "You do know that as a ten year old it's kind of illegal for me to take part in certain activities."

"It's a simple pub," Auntie Minerva told him, a dangerous motherly edge gaining in her voice, "and should you not learn to hold your tongue around me I will begin using negative reinforcement."

"You do know that positive reinforcement is more effective don't you?" Harry asked, "I probably won't change a bit if you punish me. Notice I'm still talking like this and I've had soap shoved into my mouth more than anyone else."

* * *

"Well," Harry said slowly as he studied Flitwick at dinner that evening, "you're not a little person..." Harry squinted and continued staring at him, "I know! You're half house-elf aren't you?" 

Harry was suddenly pulled away from the man by his shoulder and was sat down next to the polar opposite of the little man down the way.

"Hullo there 'Arry!" The man boomed loudly, "Name's Rubeus Hagrid, but you can call me Hagrid."

"Thanks," Harry replied blandly, "I mean, it's not every day an adult lets me call them by their last name."

"I used to know your parents," the man began and then Harry suddenly felt very defensive. He didn't want to talk about his parents unless it was on his terms.

"I used to know my parents too," Harry said before the man could continue, "and then they died, fancy that."

Harry suddenly noticed the entire room had gone silent at that comment so Harry decided to use that opportunity to tell them his thoughts on talking about his parents, "And I don't want you to talk about my parents, unless you can talk _to_ them. And even then I'll suggest you see a psychologist before you even _try_ to talk to me."

Silence continued to pervade the room, even as the food appeared and they began eating, Harry though still wasn't quite sure he could trust the food prepared by those strange, strange creatures.

Then the man in the dark dress came into the room a bit late and took a seat next to Auntie Minerva.

"What did he do?" the man asked quietly and Auntie Minerva whispered it to him, Harry pointedly watched and when Auntie Minerva finished the man's dark eyes fixed onto Harry's.

"It goes for you too," Harry told the man when he didn't look away after a moment, "If you used to know my parents."

"Everyone here used to know your parents," Dumbledore told him, "I'm afraid there's no way around that."

"I never said you couldn't know my parents," Harry replied, "I just said not to talk about them—and it shouldn't be overly difficult because there's something seriously wrong with you if you can't go a single day without talking about dead people."

Silence ensued once more and then Harry decided to give the food a shot and asked, "Someone please pass the salt…or do you think it's taking too much of a chance—eating something white that the house-elves have been at?"

Two things happened very fast, most of the people stared at either their plates or Harry, and Harry found himself gagging on soap suds.

Auntie Minerva pointed at him and said, firmly, "I told you not to talk like that again, young man."

Harry tilted his head forward and let the white soap suds dribble out of the side of his mouth, while he tried to ignore the horrid taste of them. It wasn't working too well. Harry wiped the soap away from his mouth and grabbed his spoon and began lightly scraping his tongue.

"A little warning would be nice," Harry said as he leveled the soapy spoon at Auntie Minerva, then the taste of the damn soap got to be too much and he went back to scraping his tongue after a few minutes he added, "isn't this like child abuse or something? You can't just go and make soap appear in people's mouths for no reason—"

"Your language constitutes your punishment," Auntie Minerva replied firmly.

"Besides that," Harry continued like he hadn't even heard her, "whatever happened to a good old fashioned bar of soap?"

Harry continued scraping his tongue, and then added, "And what's more, your soap tastes worse than the stuff the Dursley's used on me. And they specially bought nasty smelling and tasting soap for me—but they bought it mainly because it made me get a rash because I was allergic to it."

Auntie Minerva looked stricken and Harry knew he didn't have to worry about soap appearing in his mouth anymore…in fact, now that he thought about it, the soap had miraculously disappeared.

Harry pulled the soap-less spoon out of his mouth and stared at it.

Then he looked over at the teachers who were silent once more and the silence this time was from pity…well, this wasn't going to work.

"And to think," Harry declared, "Dumbledore wanted to leave me with them!"

It worked, Auntie Minerva was ranting once more and Harry grinned and began eating his dinner half listening to the tirade. Well, at least the food tasted good, even if there might have been strange fluids concealed from within them.

"—They bought soap just because he was allergic to it for god's sake Albus, and you still want to send him back there!"


	3. Measles, Mumps, and Ruebella

Thanks to everyone who's reveiwed...you're all quite wonderful.

And I figure the magical world must have child psychologists, so they do...and um...yeah...Ruebella's one...and never mind the fact she's so young, I don't care for her to be older to go along with the proper schooling requirements, so she's not...

**_Chapter Three: Measles, Mumps and...Ruebella_**

Harry hoped he looked incredibly disgruntled; he hadn't had enough time to practice in front of a mirror as he often did to perfect his many, many negative looks. This niece figure could be, in no way, better than Auntie Minerva. Not only that, but Harry rather liked it at Hogwarts, the teachers were all annoyed with him, except for the Snape figure who appeared to like following him around for amusement purposes…He also liked to talk to Auntie Minerva.

"Now, Harry, brighten up," Auntie Minerva encouraged brightly, "you'll like my niece a lot."

"Who says?" Harry demanded.

Then the door was opened by a young woman in her early twenties, she smiled brightly at Harry, and Harry wondered if he had to fear for his virtue.

"Hello, Aunt Minnie," the young woman greeted brightly, "Is this him?"

Harry did not appreciate being referred to as him…it at least needed to capitalized or something. He was Harry Potter, damnit, the big HP, people worshipped him and here he was lowered down to 'him.' In fact Harry should not be lowered to sharing pronouns with every other male on the planet, nay I say to you, he should have his own pronoun!

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when the woman smiled and held her hand out to him saying, "I'm Ruebella—"

"Like the disease?" Harry demanded, staring at her hand skeptically.

The woman cleared her throat, but was smiling, "Yes, like the disease, I was named after my great-grandmother—"

"Who died of Rubella?" Harry asked.

"No she invented a potion that cured it," The disease replied. Harry wondered if that explanation was supposed to make sense.

"I'm not following the thought process," Harry told her, "how come you were named after a disease, and not the potion?"

"Definitely one for the books," the woman replied, inviting them into the house.

"I'll give you one better," Harry replied, "why haven't you changed it?"

"I never found my name to be much of a problem," the childhood illness replied, "besides it always gives me and a new acquaintance something to talk about," She winked at Harry, and Harry decided that was a challenge.

"My name makes people stare at me," Harry declared, "because apparently, they've nothing better to do."

"It's because you're famous," Ruebella replied, "Some people don't really know what to do with themselves around famous people."

"You don't seem to have much of a problem," Harry replied, "besides Harry Potter's a pretty crummy name."

"I think it's rather dignified, comes with a bit of history as well," Auntie Minerva told Harry, "The Potters are an old family."

"Gathered a lot of money through a few wise investments with the Nimbus Company, didn't they?" Ruebella asked Auntie Minerva.

"They did in—"

"Wait one minute!" Harry exclaimed feeling cheated, "what about the pottery?"

"What pottery?" the two women asked, looking at him like he was a bit strange, well, in Harry's humble opinion _they_ were a bit strange.

"You know, the pottery that the _Potters_ made," Harry replied, "I thought there was pottery involved with my name."

"No, at least not for a very, very long while," Auntie Minerva replied thoughtfully.

"Then why am I called Harry Potter?" Harry demanded, "It's incredibly stupid, because I've never touched a bit of clay in my life! I'm not a Potter and apparently no one else in my family was either. I demand to be named something pertinent to my current position!"

Harry received blank looks.

"If I'm going to be named after an occupation than I should at least be named after an occupation people in my family and I actually have!" Harry explained, "I insist my name be changed immediately!"

"To what, exactly," Ruebella demanded, looking thoughtful and quite intrigued with the idea, much to Auntie Minerva's chagrin.

Harry hadn't expected that, and he thought fast.

"Harry…Wizard! I will be Harry Wizard, the boy-who-lived-to-change-his-name-to-something-pertinent!"

* * *

Harry was backed up against his chair…a little warning would have been nice. Damn child psychologists, they could see right through him, not only that but freaked him out, especially Auntie Minerva's niece. She had eyes like Snape's, ones that can read your mind! 

She raised her eyebrows…Harry apparently had to answer this question or she wouldn't move her gaze, it was pinning him to the damn chair…this strange child psychologist magic of hers was clearly quite strong.

"I don't have identity issues," Harry finally ground out, and the woman backed away, her gaze lessening its evil powers of doom.

Ruebella hummed and nodded, finally breaking her gaze and Harry jumped up and ran away as fast as he could. At least this child psychologist could turn her powers off…most were not that powerful…

Clearly, Auntie Minerva was much more clever than she appeared at first glance…Harry would have to watch her closely…and probably eavesdrop… Harry moved closer to the door he's just used to escape.

"He's good," He heard Ruebella comment. "He's got an innate hold on Occlumency. I'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

"The old fashioned way," Auntie Minerva asked, "what's that mean?"

"Just have to beat it out of him;" Ruebella replied with a grin, "there are other ways of making a child like him talk."

"Like him?" Auntie Minerva asked.

"He seems a lot like foster children I've seen," Ruebella replied, "I'll treat it the same."

Then Ruebella slammed her hand down on the doorframe before Harry and she grinned down at him, "Hear that Harry, I have ways of making you talk."

"The strange magic of child psychology may be strong with you," Harry replied firmly, "but I will not fail."

"We'll see," Ruebella challenged.

"We shall," Harry agreed.

"I knew I was right in bringing you here!" Auntie Minerva exclaimed happily, "you two are uncannily alike."

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes, clearly he had his work cut out for him.

* * *

"The name change will take a little while," Ruebella told Harry, "and it will probably be front page news and you'll be faced with a massive public backlash, but I imagine it will be done. Especially with such a simple, but logical explanation…We can also ensure that no one will know what your new last name is so that it will be a big surprise." 

This disease woman appeared to know Harry much better than she should; he considered it a personal insult.

"And if the press gets hold of it, I'm sure you'll think up something better, and in the meantime we can sue the ass of the ministry," Ruebella continued, "I imagine you'd enjoy that as well."

"How do you know?" Harry demanded as he filled out a bit more of the forms, Ruebella had seen no need to aid Harry in the process excluding giving her permission. She'd also simply handed Harry a dictionary when he'd asked what a word meant…the woman was rather annoying.

"Just a guess," she replied calmly, "I've been told you're to go shopping tomorrow with the Weasleys."

"Oh hell," Harry grumbled, "why?"

"You need school supplies," Ruebella replied, "and I believe they want you to make nice with the Weasley children."

"I won't," Harry replied impertinently.

"Sounds like you're setting yourself to have them not like you," Ruebella commented lightly.

"Well, they won't so why get my hopes up?" Harry asked, "I'm very unlikable, you know."

"I find you very likable," Ruebella replied, "perhaps being nice just a little bit will open their eyes up?"

"Can't do it," Harry replied.

"Why not?"

"I don't do nice," Harry replied, "I do rude and sarcastic, and for some reason my fantastic diction is never, ever mentioned."

"Well, it certainly should be," Ruebella agreed lightly, grinning, "it certainly is something impressive."

"Thank you," Harry exclaimed, wholeheartedly, "now if only everyone else could realize that."

"Finish your form, Harry, before you decide to go out and let everyone know about your wondrous diction," Ruebella said with a smile.

Harry would never admit it, but there was something about these McGonagall people that allowed them to beat him, but perhaps there was still time for him to make an amazing comeback…not that Harry would ever surrender.

* * *

"So you're like my legal guardian or something?" Harry asked, finally, one night at dinner; it had only been a week. Harry applauded himself for his valor; it could have taken months, maybe years for him to finally gather the courage to ask, but no. He had the fortitude to ask now. 

"Yes," Rubella replied, "I have been appointed you legal guardian, however, I don't really have any authority over you, which really pisses me off. I would never send I child like you off to Hogwarts, you need a stable home environment. Perhaps somewhere like Lady Matrix's would be best, but no, Dumbledore knows what's best for you."

"Why can't I go there?" Harry asked curiously, "to that Lady's place?"

"Because you need to go to Hogwarts," Ruebella replied, "no one ever listens to a child psychologist about children's needs, I swear to god."

"You know," Harry admitted, grudgingly, "I kinda like you."

Ruebella looked a bit shocked, but she smiled softly and replied, "I can kinda tolerate you too."

Harry nodded firmly, his ego could handle that and he returned to eating.

"Just remember Harry," Ruebella told him after a moment of comfortable silence, "you need to get up a little bit early tomorrow for your little forced shopping excursion."

Harry groaned, tossing his head back on the chair, and decided it would be best if he just killed himself…


	4. Meet the Weasleys

Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, I appreciate your support. Here's your next installment.

Oh, and be warned there's a bit of Weasley bashing, and I like the Weasleys as much as the next person, but it's IC for my Harry to insult them like he does...though I don't apologize for the Ginny and Ron bashing, I don't really like them...

Chapter four: Meet the Weasleys

"I'll have Harry down in a minute Mrs. Weasley," Harry heard Ruebella say; he was hiding upstairs, put off completely by the amount of noise he was hearing from downstairs. It sounded like a whole village had taken up in Ruebella's calming, child friendly living room. It was after all the first thing the troubled children she saw daily saw of her house…

Ruebella appeared at the base of the stairs and smiled wryly when she saw Harry crouched at the top of them, dressed and ready to go. But she didn't stop and call for him to come down; she acted like she hadn't seen him and continued on up the stairs.

"I know they seem rather daunting," Ruebella told Harry when she sat down next to him.

"Not daunting," Harry replied softly, hoping wasn't pouting or looking otherwise pathetic.

"No, I imagine for you, it's not." Ruebella replied, like the seasoned expert she was. "For some other people, having seven children and two adults that are used to a lot of volume could be daunting for some other children who are used to being in the background. Having so much attention on such a child could be unwanted at times."

"Well, I must say I pity those wimps," Harry replied, "I like attention."

"Only when it on your terms, right?" Ruebella muttered, almost inaudible, but Harry decided not to let on that he'd heard. Then she stood up and asked, "What do you say you hit the ground running and give these people a run for their money?"

"And you're trying to tell me what exactly by pairing those two clichés together?" Harry asked, raising his brow.

"Let's go downstairs," Ruebella replied. "I'm mean the Weasleys are daunting are they?"

The woman was playing him, Harry knew she was, and she was doing it so blatantly. But it was sort of working because Harry couldn't let her win!

"How about you go downstairs," Harry suggested.

Unfortunately, she latched onto this, "And then I can introduce you!"

Harry really should just throw himself down the stairs…though he'd probably survive because God just hated him like that. Ruebella bounced down the stairs and declared, when she hit the floor, "Ladies and Gentlemen may I present Harry Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes and demanded, "That was a horrible introduction! You've got to do better than that if you want me to come down there, and hello, just sent in the name changing papers, you were there when I filled them out, remember?"

"He's changing his name?" a shocked woman asked, and Harry decided that he'd done a bang-up job of introducing himself. So he stood up and bounced his way down the stairs replying, "Yes, I am, to something more pertinent to my current situation. It's a secret, currently."

Harry hit the floor next to Ruebella and found himself to face to face with what was, in fact, a small village…of male redheads…with a couple of women to ensure survival…or something, the younger one clearly to bear children for the newest generation…

"Wow," Harry murmured softly, "that must be some kind of fertility potion you took."

Ruebella suddenly had a coughing fit, Harry watched her. She stopped shortly after she had to learn against the wall in order to support herself.

"Oh poor dear," The older female said concerned, "that was a horrible fit, are you quite all right?"

"Perfectly, thanks for your concern Mrs. Weasley," Ruebella replied with a smile, her face red from all of the coughing. She spared a sharp glare in Harry direction as though telling him not to be funny anymore.

Harry would have her know that she was not trying to be funny, he was being sincere, and she shouldn't have started coughing because then everyone could know you were laughing…

But apparently that was not the case with these people who looked rather concerned by the whole thing…clearly; this village was not very keen on learning.

"So, you're Harry Potter then?" The youngest male asked him skeptically, and Harry didn't appreciate that this strange tall fed-headed male did not believe that he was in fact the amazing Harry…Wizard…HW didn't really have the same ring to it as HP, but Harry was sure he could cope. He was resilient like that.

"No," Harry replied haughtily, "I was Harry Potter, I've changed my name, and you'll find out about it when everyone else does. And just so you know, youngest male of this small village, I do _not_ appreciate your doubts concerning my ever wonderful identity! I am Harry whose last name is a great secret, I am the big H…W…LN…ISG…S, and I demand respect darn you! And just so you know, if evil ever rises again, you are not on my forehead's list of people to save!"

Harry crossed his arms and gave the youngest Weasley a yes-I-did-just-say-that look and slowly turned to look elsewhere.

It happened to be Ruebella, who was leaning against the wall looking like she was going to start "coughing" again, but she managed to asked, "Your forehead?"

"Blew Voldemort up in the first place, am I right?" Harry asked, "I like to give credit where credit is due, and all you happen to be indebted to my forehead. Congratulations on pulling _that_ one by the way."

He was getting that "if you say anything more I could quite possibly begin to hate you" look from a few of the children that were assembled, so Harry decided that he might as well…say something else, that is.

"So where exactly do you people hail from anyway?" Harry asked curiously, "the town of Weasel? And kudos on the hair, I'm sure it took years of specialized breeding to get that one, right?

There was family-wide bristling at that, and Ruebella coughed, saying gently, "I think that warrants an apology, Harry."

Whatever response the people gathered in the room were expecting, it was not the one they got. Harry simply looked completely bewildered; and Ruebella quickly pulled Harry from the room.

After about fifteen minutes, Harry returned to the room looking fully chastised and slightly embarrassed as he apologized softly, "I'm sorry about what I said, I didn't mean to insult you guys…that much…I was just being…" Harry glanced back over his shoulder and said to Ruebella, "I'm not going to say that, because I'm not being defensive and insecure."

Ruebella nodded and gave Harry permission not to say it, but she looked up at the Weasleys and told them, "He's being defensive and insecure, and he really didn't know just how insulting he was being, apparently he's never been taught limits, but I don't find that hard to believe."

Harry turned at glared at Ruebella declaring, "I was not being defensive and insecure damnit!"

"You get defensive whenever someone mentions your family, as do most people when their family is cast in a negative light," Ruebella explained calmly.

"I do not get defensive when someone talks about my family," Harry argued, "I just don't like it when people talk about my family at _all_!"

Ruebella did that weird humming thing psychologists are prone to do and said, "We'll explore this, Harry."

"No, we bloody well will not!" Harry replied, "Because there's nothing to explore!"

Ruebella looked ready to argue that point, but then the elder woman interrupted with a slight cough, "We should probably get going Harry, dear," she smiled very warmly like all errs were forgiven, "if we want to miss the crowds."

"You're right, Mrs. Weasley," Ruebella replied, "Have fun Harry, and be nice."

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, alarmed, as he stared at Ruebella, "You're not coming?"

Ruebella shook her head, but asked, "Would you like for me to come with you, Harry?"

Harry suddenly realized that she was being really mean to him, if he said he wanted her to come then that would mean he liked her, but Harry didn't like her, he kind didn't _not_ like her…and there was a difference. But if Harry said no, like he was expected to do then that would mean he was throwing himself out with this insanely large family without someone he knew…she making him choose whether his pride was all-important to him…

And let's face it, it was.

"No," Harry replied, just a _little_ petulantly.

"Are you sure, I could come with you, if you'd like me to?" Ruebella suggested, making it very easy for Harry to consider agreeing…

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry finally huffed out. Ruebella's only response was to raise her eyebrow in one final question.

Harry just glared, and couldn't help but feel that maybe he wasn't winning this round…

* * *

Harry carefully guarded his amazement when he'd first seen Diagon Alley, but the amazement became easier to guard when they'd passed the broomstick store. He muttered a few sarcastic comments when he saw it, and though it made the youngest Weasley male glow red with anger, clashed something awful with the red of his hair if anyone cared. His comments had made the pair of twins, a couple of years older than him, guffaw wildly and they began teasing each other for liking the feel of a long, hard wooden broomstick between their legs. 

While Harry appreciated the humor, it also made him blush red and declare that he was ten and didn't need to be hearing such things.

Their first stop was, oddly enough, an "Owl Emporium" whatever the hell that was. They were going to buy an owl, because apparently Harry wanted one, which only led back to the "deaf escapees of a mental institution" theory that Harry had developed, because either these people couldn't hear at all or they were just absolutely crummy listeners…either was plausible.

And that youngest girl, couldn't be more than nine, was hanging all over him like he didn't have gravity keeping him down. Harry just knew that she would end up being addicted to romance novels at some point in the future, she just had that vibe.

He found himself pulled into the dark, musty store full of owls of various shapes and sizes. Harry entertained the thought of calling animal services down on these biatches…or letting all the owls loose.

"Now, Harry, you can buy any owl you want, consider it an early birthday present," The woman Harry gathered to be Mrs. Weasley told him, Harry figured she'd probably hug him to death or do something similarly horrifying if he didn't get an owl…

"I'm not going to get a stupid owl," Harry replied, "What in hell would I do with an owl, anyway?" Harry demanded of the…Weasley's…that was a perfectly ridiculous name, by the way.

"Owls are extremely useful," the matronly woman, Mrs. Weasley said kindly, Harry had decided that she was clearly the leader of the small village, "they carry mail…"

Harry hardly listened to the woman as all of the owls hooted and made all sorts of noise, but one, a snowy owl, was staring piercingly at him. It freaked him out, damn it. Harry decided to not pay any attention to the white bird and see if it stopped looking at him, but it didn't.

Harry was getting a bit paranoid.

The owl continued staring and Harry decided to give the thing a talking to, he moved over to the owl's cage and explained, "Now, I get the fact that you're staring and all, because really that's what owls do, you know, the whole not blinking thing. But really, it's kinda freaky, if you could just stare at the weird future romance novel addict, the little girl, it would be greatly appreciated."

The owl continued staring at him, and it tilted its head in a haughty way, and really Harry had never been more insulted in his whole life. Then the owl hooted in a confused way and Harry knew that it knew exactly what Harry had said, the stupid owl was taunting him.

"Now, see here—" Harry began, but his impending rant was interrupted by the leader of the pack.

"Oh, Harry dear, did you find one you like?" She asked pleasantly and she leant over to study the owl.

"Um, no, actually—"

"Oh, he's wonderful," she cooed, "and very reasonably priced."

Then a sales associate appeared from no where and replied, "It's actually a she ma'am, a snowy owl. This one's quite clever really."

"I don't—" Harry exclaimed loudly, but The Weasley woman was already tossing out some of his money and the owl was shoved into his arms. The owl gazed at him smugly and Harry glared fervently back at the owl, it may have everyone else fooled, but not him.

"So what are you going to name it dear?" The woman asked.

"Just out of curiosity," Harry countered, "who is the most evil person that was ever evil—besides Hitler or the Devil."

"That would have to be you-know-who," was the heart-felt answer he received from several of the family members.

Harry returned the owl's stare and asked, "What about Voldemort, girl? How would you like to be named Voldemort?"

Harry didn't get a response from the owl, but he did get horrified explanations from all the people that heard him, both for saying the name and wanting to name his owl that.

"Okay," Harry replied, not deterred, "How about Voldemrot?"

"Harry, dear, I don't think—"

"Voldemrot it is!" Harry declared happily, smirking at the owl, but the stupid thing just smirked right back…damn bird.

Harry would win.

* * *

They went down to a bookstore after that, and Harry was molested by the Weasley twins and dragged into secluded part of the store where they recommended a few different books to Harry…Harry wondered just how many people thought that he was going to actually be molested. 

"This one was especially helpful—"

"—to us, young Harry, when we were your age," they told him as the shoved a book in his face. It was called…"10,001 Useful and Just Plain Stupid Spells That Can be Used in Everyday Life" and Harry couldn't quite figure out why he was looking at it.

"For example, on page 743 you have the 'Possessed Stilts Spell' which is rather useful when you buy a pair of stilts and let other people use them," one twin told Harry.

"Dead useful, that," the other twin replied, and Harry had to admire their ability to keep a straight face. "But we developed a variant of that spell to make it so it would make other objects possessed."

"Like our younger siblings' stuffed animals," the other twin added.

"And on page 65," the other said, "there's the fake diary spell, where you take a book and make it look like a diary and someone will get curious and want to read it—"

"And then," the other finished with a smirk, "you've got your face full of porn."

"That one definitely taught mum, didn't it George?"

"It did indeed Fred."

"Made ourselves a good bit of business out of that one," The twin Harry was sure to be George replied, "we would say we were selling a certain girl's diary, and a boy would buy it and then bam!"

"Face full of porn!"

"And then boys would start buying them because they could say it was an actual diary—"

"—Even though it was porn—"

"—and that way they wouldn't get caught with porn. But we were found out by Snape and got a few weeks of detention."

"Snape still hasn't given those diaries back." The other twin replied mournfully.

Harry stared at the twins in disbelief and replied, "I so did not need to know that."

"But back to the main point of our presentation—"

"—we like you and think you would be a good choice to carry on our legacy—"

"Of selling porn diaries?" Harry demanded.

"Among other things," they replied together.

"We happen to be some of the great pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen," The one Harry decided was Fred told him, "and we worry that after we pass through those hallowed halls for the last time, never shall those halls see any more like us."

"So, we've decided you would make an excellent apprentice!"

"Just from the thirty minutes you've known me?" Harry asked, his eyebrow raised.

"We can see your potential—"

"—It's in your sarcasm."

"Well, thank you," Harry replied, noticing they hadn't said anything about his diction; perhaps it was just so easy to forget about…Harry wasn't sure…

"We weren't sure, at first," one told him, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"—when we heard your diction," the other added, also wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders, "thought you might be too intellectual."

"But when you named your owl Voldemrot," they finished together, "we knew."

"I'll give it a shot," Harry sighed, and he decided it wasn't because these twins amused him; it was because they realized that his diction was so amazing…

* * *

After the bookstore Harry was taken to get fitted for school robes, while a couple of the elder Weasley boys were taken to a second-hand shop because they were three inches taller than their older brothers…because apparently there were more. 

"Just hop up there," the woman at the robe shop said kindly and measuring tape began flying around Harry for about five minutes or more, and Harry wondered if this woman realized that taking the measurements herself would have taken less time.

Then Harry found himself being perfectly fitted for his own black dress…lovely, he was a ten year old cross-dresser. About Halfway through, he was joined by a slightly chubby boy his own age, and an older woman who seemed to have a fetish for dead birds or something to that effect…if the stuffed vulture on her hat was anything to go by…

"He-hello," the boy greeted after a sharp cough from the older lady.

Harry glanced over at the uncomfortable boy and replied, slowly, "Hi."

"You-you're going to Hogwarts too?" the boy asked, appearing highly frightened, like he'd just fallen from a second floor window or something. It was rather annoying.

"You don't have to be scared to talk to me, you know," Harry replied, "and acting like you are will only make me want to victimize you more…if I wanted to be mean in the first place. So stop stuttering, put your shoulders back, and try again."

"Hello," The boy said, much firmer this time, though he was still frightened.

"Much better," Harry replied, "now you don't sound quite like a half-drowned kitten, carry on, you were asking me if I was going to Hogwarts too."

"Are you going to go to Hogwarts too?" the boy asked, now sounding slightly braver.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied, "I would much rather go somewhere else, but I'm not allowed."

"I'm just happy I can go to Hogwarts," the boy replied, now getting less confident, "I thought I was a—"

"Spit it out," Harry instructed, "if you act embarrassed about it then people will make fun of it."

"A squib," the boy finished, "but I'm not."

"Good," Harry replied with a smile, "I would hate to be a squib too, sounds perfectly ridiculous."

The boy smiled lightly and replied, "Yeah, I guess it does."

Harry decided to let that go, you know, the whole agreeing with his opinion rather than stating his own, but the boy just looked so pleased to find the word squib funny that Harry couldn't make him redo that one.

"Because I'm not a squib," the boy continued, unprompted, Harry mentally patted the boy on the back, "I got a toad from my uncle, my toad's named Trevor."

"I was forced to get an owl," Harry replied, "I named her Voldemrot, because I didn't want her and she doesn't like me."

Silence met this.

"Not to be confused with Voldemort," flinches all-around, which was beyond awesome that he could get people to do that, "there's a two letter difference. And the owl's a nuisance."

The boy flushed slightly and ducked his head, looking away from the old lady he was with and confided, "I would have preferred a cat."

"Me too," Harry replied.

* * *

They were on their way to buy Harry's "magic wand," and if that didn't just flush all the masculinity out of a guy Harry didn't know what would, when Harry spotted that Snape fellow. 

Goodness knew what the man was doing; Harry had to admit that he'd never seen the man leave Hogwarts since they made that house call to visit him.

"My brothers told me awful stories about him," the youngest boy told Harry, "they say he's horrible."

"He's been nice to me," Harry replied with a glare, the man hardly ever spoke so Harry didn't know much about his true character, but Auntie Minerva seemed to like him and that was more than enough for Harry.

"I'm just saying what I've heard," the boy replied, turning red clearly from anger. This boy annoyed Harry something awful, unlike the boy in the dress shop. That boy made Harry think of what he could have been like if he hadn't learned to stick up for himself.

"What you've heard clearly doesn't represent fact," Harry replied, "and your blushing doesn't match your hair at all, you might want to look into a color change for either or both of them."

Harry brushed past the boy and went into the wand shop.

* * *


	5. Wispy

**Okay, thanks bunches to Treck for that lovely little line and premise of Harry breaking his wand…and to timydamonkey for betaing and maybe for a few lines…I never can tell anymore…_and thanks to all my lovely reviewers!_**

Also, nobody needs to worry about the pairing or me turning Harry into super!Harry…it's not going to happen, besides his diction he's going to be a completely average smart aleck. On the pairing, may I just remind all of you that Harry is currently ten, and despite the fact that ten year olds get it on now, I don't believe they did back in the early nineties/late eighties…There just seemed to be a good deal of worry over these two topics, so I just wanted to clear them up…now, let's just see how many of you read this…

Also, for the first time ever, for anyone who cares, I got a beta, you can blame any mistakes on her—just kidding!

…about the blaming it on her bit…I did actually have the chapter beta read.

**Chapter five: Wispy**

"Harry Potter," a wispy voice greeted as he walked into the wand shop, the Weasleys all around him. "I've been expecting you."

"You've been expecting me?" Harry demanded in horror, "How pervy is that? I mean, does no one seem to understand that I'm ten? Not only that, potential rapist, but you could at least get my name right; I've changed my last name, honestly!"

"Ah, yes, I've heard that little rumor, but wasn't sure there was any truth to it," the man's voice appeared from the darkness in the back of the shop, "you're here for your wand, then?"

"No, actually, I was hoping to find a bit of liquor," Harry replied, not a bit sincerely. "I don't suppose you could help me there?"

The old, wispy-looking man chuckled in reply; it was a dark sound and it made Harry's eyes narrow. The man was tall and thin, and he reached up and grabbed a box from the shelf.

"Is Ronald Weasley also to get a wand, Molly?" The man asked as he moved closer to Harry with the box he held in his hand.

Ron looked incredibly hopeful, and stared pleadingly at his mother. The woman shook her head and replied softly, almost as though she were disappointed in herself, "No, just Harry there."

"Very well," the man replied with no more questions, "though I could be persuaded to give a discount; each wizard must have the wand that chooses them you know."

Ron looked like he might drop to his knees and beg and even Mrs. Weasley looked sorely tempted, but she spared a few glances to her other children and Harry began to realize that having a family the size of a small village didn't necessarily mean that all lived in comfort…And if she allowed one of her children to have a wand she would have to let all of them have a wand, which she simply didn't have the coinage for.

Harry suddenly felt a dire need to help, but his chance was thwarted when Snape stepped into the shop and commented lightly, "I've heard things come cheaper in bulk."

"So they do," the wispy man replied, "and certain allowances must be made for such a fine family made of good upstanding citizens."

"Indeed," Snape agreed darkly, looking as gloomy as he normally did.

Mrs. Weasley looked around helplessly at her children, whom were all pleading with their hopeless eyes, and then her eyes rested on her husband who simply sighed.

"Oh, very well," Mrs. Weasley acquiesced, and all the Weasley children cheered, except for the oldest children, who Harry presumed already had their own wands. They were rather old compared to the youngest children; clearly these people's childbearing years were very vast.

"Well, you'd best take care of me first, because I'm a bit of a nuisance when I'm forced to wait," Harry replied, "and besides, I was going to get a wand before they decided to get wands."

"Very well then," the wispy man replied, and he took the top off the slim box he held and brandished the open box, containing a stick…and while it was a very nice polished stick, Harry was sure it was still a stick.

"Oak, unicorn hair, 10 inches," the wispy man declared and Harry wondered if he was supposed to reply to that or something…Harry found the 'or something' far more plausible. "Go on, take hold of it and give it a wave, Harry."

Harry choked, but did as he was told and watched, terribly amused, as a shelf filled with the long slim boxes fell from its place on the wall.

"That's not it," the man replied, and the wand was yanked from Harry's hand to be replaced with another alongside the introduction, "Willow, dragon heartstrings, 12 inches."

This wand was replaced with another, and another, and another.

Harry realized that this was going to take a very long time when one wand flew straight out of his hand when he waved it and smacked one of the twins in the head, only to have them discover that the wand was the match for that twin…

Only a few hours later, and two more Weasleys with wands, the wispy man, in an apparent act of desperation, pulled a box from the shelf while muttering about something or other. Harry was much too taken with impatience to really care that the core of that wand was from the same animal that gave the core to another wand, really! Who gave a damn at all? So Harry would not pay attention to the fact that there were two wands, two cores and just the one animal.

Harry took the wand when it was offered and twitched his wrist slightly, because he really could bring himself to care—sparks burst from the wand and warmth spread up Harry's arm to wind itself into his very core. Harry stood up straight and clenched his hand around the wand firmly, and decided that having a magic wand couldn't be all that bad.

"My turn!" the youngest male Weasley declared, jumping up excitedly.

"Well, don't get your lacy little panties in a bunch," Harry commented as the boy ran past him, only him and his sister hadn't found their wands, but honestly that little girl kinda freaked Harry out, he didn't think she needed anything that could potentially be dangerous… or turn porn into a diary, or make stilts act possessed... those had to be the most random spells ever! Not that Harry was an expert…

Well, he _was_ a self-proclaimed expert, but that didn't really give him much authority outside of his own brain.

"How much more shopping do you need to do?" Snape asked, appearing behind him. Snape clearly had magical powers of the unwarranted and unneeded variety…this appearing from nowhere behind someone could not bode well for one's heart.

"Dunno," Harry replied, "we went to get my dresses, got my wand, but I haven't paid for that…we got my books too, what's left after that?"

"Potions ingredients and cauldrons," Snape replied, "among other things."

"What other things?" Harry asked curiously.

"You are supposed to be in possession of your school list," Snape told him, and this was so not Harry's fault.

"No, they're supposed to be in possession of my list," Harry replied gesturing to the Weasleys, "I'm just along for the very long, pointless ride and somehow managed to get saddled with the owl from hell during the course of said ride. Early birthday present indeed..."

"Nonetheless," Snape told Harry, in his best looming, I'm so evil, voice, "Ruebella has reported that she will be returning home a bit later than anticipated, and you will be returning to Hogwarts with me after this little," Snape sneered, apparently searching for the right word, "shopping excursion."

"You know you love it," Harry replied off-handedly.

"I believe there is something you should know about that wand, Harry," the wispy man said, his voice carrying, ominous like a bad movie, through the shop. He floated across the shop to Harry, the Weasleys watching with an awed respectful silence. Harry honestly felt like asking for a refund because this movie was clearly not any good. "I gave the brother of that wand to another boy many years ago, and he grew up to use that wand to give you…" The man pointed a long, veined finger at Harry's forehead, because apparently such an action had meaning…

Oh! Harry's scar was there…things made sense now...

"That," the man finished. Then he decided to start droning on about something else, while Harry pensively fingered his new, most wonderful wand…and came to a decision.

Harry took hold of the wand in both hands felt the power trailing through the wand and the resistance of the wood. The man finished with something to the effect of "with great power comes great responsibility!" or something.

Harry looked up at the older wizard, feeling the side of his mouth quirk into a well-practiced smirk, and Harry agreed, "You're exactly right."

And then Harry lifted his knee and broke his wand over it.

Wisps of brightly colored something – was it magic? - floated up and away from the wood and then doubled back in on itself and joined back in with the broken shards of wood. Harry dropped the broken pieces of wood to the ground; one of them had a matted red thing hanging out of it.

"There," Harry smiled brightly, "now Voldemort's" - everyone flinched - "wand doesn't have a brother. It's an only child, like me."

Silence was the only sound in the room; you could even hear the people conversing outside because of how quiet it was in the shop.

"Guess I need a new wand, huh?" Harry asked brightly.

There was no response to that either…and then Harry's shoulder was seized, and Snape asked, "Mr. Ollivander, may we use your floo?"

"But I need a new wand," Harry exclaimed, getting concerned.

"And we'll get you one," Snape replied, his voice somewhat choked, "just not today."

"All right," Harry replied, pouting, "what about tomorrow?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Snape replied, and he began pulling Harry toward the dark innards of the shop.

"What about tonight?" Harry demanded, "Could we get my wand tonight?"

"Maybe tonight," Snape replied.

* * *

Harry sat in the teacher's lounge, on the couch, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, listening to the adults whisper loudly about him. 

"Well, it's true that he does need another wand," Auntie Minerva replied softly.

"Told you," Harry declared around his mouthful of food. "Can we get it tonight?"

"Shut it, Potter," Snape snarked from his place next to Auntie Minerva, having clearly heard enough of Harry's attitude.

"Not a Potter," Harry replied as he took another bite of his sandwich, "no pottery."

"Then be quiet," Snape snarled, "we're trying to figure out what to do since you went and snapped your wand, right in front of the person that made it."

"So I should definitely apologize, maybe?" Harry asked as he peeled a bit of crust of the bread, "but when will I get my new wand?"

"Soon," Auntie Minerva replied, she always had a nice handle on every situation…it was almost like every situation was a door; they each had their own little doorknob. "Can you tell me why you snapped your wand?"

"Because," Harry explained, "I want my own wand, everyone else has their own wand, I had to share mine with that Voldemort fellow, and that wispy fellow was talking like it was a problem so—problem solved."

Harry tore off a chunk of his sandwich and began chewing it with his mouth open, just to annoy the teachers.

* * *

Harry discovered a few hours later, after the little conference had broken up, that Voldemrot, the stupid bird, had found her way to him. 

But she'd brought all the books he'd bought today, so he supposed that if she kept her distance, Harry might be able to tolerate her. She'd perched on the other side of the room while Harry read through one of his books, like a history book or something, and then he'd found the chapter on Voldemort.

"Look, owl, it's your namesake!" Harry exclaimed, "Voldemort!"

The owl shuffled her wings in reply and hooted in a slightly annoyed way. Then Harry began reading from the passage aloud, emphasizing all the parts where he was mentioned. Eventually the owl flew over to the couch next to where Harry was sat on the floor.

"Now, Voldemort is considered one of the worst dark lords of all time, he is in fact so evil," Harry paused to roll his eyes, and added, "that _apparently_, no one will even say his name. Now, by switching two letters in Voldemort, you get your name: Voldemrot. Now, I know that Voldemrot doesn't really have all of the French-ness or terror associated with Voldemort… but you're an owl so it's not much of a deal."

"What's the boy doing now?" Snape asked as he walked into the teacher's lounge after having left in a bit of a tizzy from the conversation about Harry breaking his wand. He helped himself to a cup of tea, and looked over to where the boy lay on the floor with a book open in front of him and his new owl perched on the couch nearby.

"He's decided to name his owl Voldemrot," Minerva replied, "and is explaining to the owl exactly what You-Know-Who has done, because he changed two letters to get the owl's name. I don't know whether to be amused by the fact he's explaining the name he chose to the owl, or be disturbed that he named the owl after the…thing that killed his parents."

"Actually, I suppose you're no better because you sound like some sort of mold that could destroy houses and disease small children," the boy snorted from his place on the floor, "Voldemrot… 'I'm sorry,'" the boy mocked in a deep voice, "'but you have The-Rot-That-Must-Not-Be-Named in your basement.'"

Snape choked on his tea.


	6. I Think I'm Paranoid

**_Thanks to all of my fantastic reviewers_**, my beta, and…the fact summer will be over next chapter, thank god, I've been dragging it out for too long…

I think that pretty much covers everything for this chapter…hope you like it…I think Harry's a bit terrible two-ish

**Chapter Six: I Think I'm Paranoid**

Harry was beginning to regret his decision to snap his wand; it was two weeks later and they had now expanded their search to wandmakers out of the continent. They had only checked mainly American and Canadian wandmakers up to this point though, but those chances were looking just as bleak.

He did rather like a salesman from a certain American company though, Harry couldn't be arsed to remember which, he was amusing and seem to think all Harry needed to correct his "smart ass" behavior was a good "paddlin'." Harry saw him a lot because the company seemed keen to make a sale and constantly brought in increasingly expensive and exotic wands.

"And here I was thinking a two hour wait in a cramped shop was bad," Snape growled as he plopped into a chair; he was the one assigned to 'wand duty' today. He clearly must have drawn the short straw. "Just like your father, always needing to make things more difficult than they need be."

"You know," Harry replied, nearly matching Snape's foul tone, "that would have been just as effective if you had said genetically predisposed, and then you wouldn't have mentioned my parents at all."

A few minutes later, a bit before scheduled, the floo activated and out popped the American salesman…who was not supposed to be the person to come today.

"Hey there, Harry," the man greeted. He looked slightly flushed and very excited and he was holding an ornately carved box. "I know I wasn't booked to come today, but I think I've found it."

"Your bits?" Harry asked curiously, tilting his head and looking at the box strangely. "You mean they were in the box the whole time?"

Snape coughed loudly from his chair and Harry smiled brightly, daring the man to come up with a retort for _that_.

"Yes," the man replied dryly, "that's where they've been all this time; I'm amazed I haven't found them sooner. But just to make sure it still works properly, I want you to give it a little wave."

Clearly, this man was better than Harry gave him credit for…He would just have to put a bit more effort into his game.

"What makes you think I want to?" Harry demanded, but when the man opened the box he felt true love.

"I was going through the storerooms trying to find something to bring to our next appointment," the man explained completely ignoring Harry's comment, "and then I found this, and I knew that this one had to be it."

"What's it made out of?" Snape demanded skeptically.

"Rosewood," the man replied, placing the dark, slender wand on the coffee table before Harry, "and the core is supposedly a scale from the mystical Brazilian snake, the boiúna. It's eleven and three quarters inches. It was made by natives in the Brazilian rainforest some years ago."

"And the cost of such a—" Snape asked, but Harry tuned him out about halfway through. You couldn't put a price on the right wand, after all… as Harry had learned the first time around. He leant forward, and it was like he could almost hear the wand whispering to him.

Harry wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing, almost hearing voices. On the one hand he couldn't really hear them and on the other he was kinda hearing something…maybe he was crazy…

OR…maybe he was just channeling Snape.

That was much more plausible. Harry knelt down on the floor next to the wand, not bothering to listen to the adult talk… like they made sense anyway. Harry's fingers brushed across the wand and a little static shock was all he needed. He grasped the wand and pulled it out, slashing it through the air and sending sparks flying out of the tip.

Harry began doing a victory dance as the salesperson that was scheduled to come popped out of the fireplace. He paid her no heed and began jumping on the couch, dancing like a maniac.

He could still hear Snape and the American guy arguing about something still, but who really gave a damn.

"What's going on here?" the salesperson demanded.

Harry jumped down off the couch and explained, "You sue that guy for screwing up your deal," he said, pointing to the American man, "and then he," Harry pointed to Snape, "is going to buy my wand from the guy you're going to sue, and then you," he pointed to the newest member of the room, "go away because your services are no longer required."

"That's your wand?" the American man asked, looking excited, "I knew it had to be—"

Then Snape decided to completely blow the mood and commented like he had a stick up his arse, "Potter, the wand's sixty five galleons."

"But aren't I worth it?" Harry asked with a pout, "Because I'm so sweet and loveable?"

Snape scoffed, and the salesperson cleared his throat.

"Okay," Harry said shrugging, "let's try again; you buy me this wand or I declare war. And yes, believe it or not, it gets worse."

"I've no doubts an imp like you could be more annoying than you already are," Snape replied, "but sixty-five galleons is simply an outrageous price for a wand."

"You can't put a price on the proper wand for me!" Harry protested, gripping his wand and glaring at Snape.

"Quite true," the American salesman replied, "it's the wand that chooses the man."

"Exactly," Harry replied, "you can't deprive a man of his wand! It's cruel and unusual punishment, except in cases of rape, then I'm sure that deprivation is fundamental to the crime and punishment."

Silence filled the room at that, and Harry smirked at his amazing skills.

"I'll offer you a deal," the American man replied, "50 galleons, but I can't go any lower."

"The wand I've brought," the other seller began, "is only—"

"I don't give a damn about the wand you brought!" Harry replied petulantly, "I want this wand!" he yelled, waving his wand about, sending more sparks flying out of the end of it. Harry smirked and began entertaining himself by shooting more sparks out of his wand.

"I can tell it's going to be fun teaching him," the American man commented dryly.

"And if nobody buys me my wand," Harry declared, "then I'm stealing it!"

Harry gave the wand an experimental twirl and watched, awed, as the coffee table before him smashed up into the ceiling and promptly broke into splinters and fell back to the floor.

"Cool…"Harry breathed, staring at the ruined table before him. "I guess that means that the table wasn't very well made… Shame you people can't get anything of value in this giant mausoleum. Maybe it's because you're too stingy…"

He smiled pointedly at Snape, once again twirling his wand in-between his fingers.

"Bloody brat," Snape muttered. "I'll go and get the headmaster."

* * *

Harry swept his wand over his plate and snickered as colored sparks flew from it and colored the food it landed on.

"It's like sprinkles," he mumbled to himself in amazement, "except it's not candy."

The next thing he knew, a brightly wrapped box was placed in front of him. He looked up at Ruebella in confusion, because the box had to get onto the table somehow.

"What's that supposed to be?" Harry demanded of The Disease. "A jack-in-the-box on crack? I'll have you know that those things are evil and that it will probably come to life later on tonight and kill us all."

Ruebella rolled her eyes, but smiled as she replied. "Not quite."

"It will," Harry replied, "It happened to a kid at school, I found a jack-in-the-box somewhere and I gave it to the girl… and she was dead the next day."

Ruebella blinked and demanded, "What did you put in it?"

"Nothing," he replied a bit too innocently, "I have nothing to do with those things, and she asked me to give it to her. It's her own fault for opening the damn thing. I knew to keep it closed; you should never open anything that might conceal a dead clown."

"It's not a jack-in-the-box," Ruebella insisted.

"I should have known that you would try to off me eventually," Harry continued, "and death by jack-in-the-box is definitely inconspicuous enough to keep you from being arrested. I knew there was something strange about you ever since I found out you were a childhood disease I knew you couldn't handle the fact that I survived rube—"

"It's a birthday present!" Ruebella exclaimed, frustrated.

"You're trying to off me on my birthday?" Harry demanded, greatly offended, "I had no idea your evil knew no bounds—"

Ruebella groaned and yelled, "It's a Muggle radio!"

"What?" Harry demanded, "Do you think I couldn't have figured it out on my own?"

"Not at the rate you were going," Ruebella replied, and she reached out to unwrap the gift.

"And now you're going to unwrap my present after you told me what it was?" Harry exclaimed, "You're some kind of evil; you know that, don't you, lady?"

Harry glared at her. She rolled her eyes and leaned back into her chair as Harry pulled the present closer to himself and began carefully unwrapping it to reveal a box that showed pictures of the Muggle radio that was housed inside.

"I didn't know what else to get you," she explained, "and everybody likes music, and I'm sure you'd find something to complain about in a magical radio…although I'm sure the type of radio won't stop your complaints much…"

Harry nodded slowly and stared at the box with an almost perplexed expression.

"You're cake's almost done, by the way," Ruebella added, "Aunt Minnie and a couple of other teachers should be by in a little while…I invited the Weasleys so that you could have some kids to play with, even though I know you don't really like all of them. We're throwing you a birthday party," Ruebella added, just in case Harry hadn't gathered by that point, "and they'll have presents for you too."

He hadn't looked away from the box during all of this.

"Do you want to go try it out? This is a Muggle house, so you should be able to make it work if it needs one of those wall things…" Ruebella suggested. Harry wordlessly took hold of the box and left the table. He didn't look back until he reached the door.

Then he said so softly Ruebella wasn't sure even sure that he'd said it, except for the fact she could see his lips move: "Thanks, Ruebella."

* * *

Hope that endingwasn't too cheesy for all of you.../grins/


	7. Go Baby, Go, Go

Okay, first I know that chocolate frogs only have one good hop in them...I think...but I messed with it a bit so we could have the fun scene there at the end...also...the train ride lasts all day, in case some of you were wondering, and Harry's not supposed to meet Hermione yet...and I know emo is a relatively new concept and wasn't around back in the early 90s but I don't care.

And then since a couple of people have pointed it out **Harry does not have full control of his assests, Dumbledore is pretty much looking after the money he gets/spends and that's followed by Rubella and Minerva, so Harry has money, but he doesn't have access to it...yet.**

**A big thanks to my reviewers and to timydamonkey** for betaing, and for the comment about Malfoy and the other children together making one average looking fat person...apparently, we're both on the same crack or something...

**Chapter Seven: Go Baby, Go, Go!**

Harry crossed his arms and stared at the wall before him.

"I swear to God, you people seriously need to get checked out or something because damn," Harry told Ruebella, "I mean, what the fuck—"

"Language, Harry," Ruebella chastised, "and the train's on the other side."

"I gathered that," Harry replied. "I'm talking about the wall. Can you people get any less creative? 'Oh,'" Harry mocked, "'here's an idea that's never been done before — we could have them go through a wall.' If this was in a movie, I would never pay to go and see it."

"Even if the acting was good?" Ruebella asked with a grin.

"If the acting was good," Harry replied, "then I might think about it, but with a cliché like this, you know the acting won't be any good."

"Just out of curiosity, what if you were in the movie?" Ruebella asked.

"If I was in the movie," Harry stated, "then the movie wouldn't suck, and no one would notice the going through walls thing, because guess what, I'd be completely overshadowing it."

"You know," Ruebella sighed, "it's amazing that an abused, neglected child can come out of such a situation an egomaniac."

Harry grinned and held his arms out and declared, "I just have mad skills like that."

"Harry dear!" Harry heard the very motherly voice of Molly Weasley call out and he took off running into the wall. Then he grabbed a blonde, stuck up looking boy and skidded behind him whispering, "Hide me."

The boy jerked away and replied snootily, "Malfoys don't hide people!"

"Really?" Harry asked curiously, "You're a Malfoy?" Harry looked over the boy, noticing the heavily gelled blonde hair and pale blue eyes. "I've never met anyone from a different species before! My name's Harry, do you have a name or do Malfoys not have names?"

The boy didn't appear to know what to make of this and simply glared at Harry.

"Harry, that was rude and unnecessary," Ruebella reprimanded as she walked up to him; apparently there was no escape from the woman she could even follow him through walls…

"Isn't everything I do?" Harry asked curiously, "But you can answer that later! This boy's a different species, they call themselves Malfoys."

Ruebella choked and covered her face with her hand. "Harry," she sighed, "his surname is Malfoy."

"Oh, so you were just referring to yourself in the third person!" Harry exclaimed in understanding, and then he leant close to the boy and confided, "Just so you know, that's a sign of insanity."

"Come on, Harry, why don't we go talk to someone else?" Ruebella suggested, and she took of Harry's arm, but he wasn't quite ready to move onto another victim just yet.

"Nice hair, by the way," Harry told the albino boy brightly, "Is that to get rid of the lice?"

"Harry!" Ruebella exclaimed.

"What did your child say to my son?" a firm voice, sort of similar to Snape's, demanded. Harry turned to look and then raised his brow.

"You know, I think they _are_ their own species," Harry remarked, "That coloring is just too specific…not only that but me and Ruebella aren't even related."

"Actually, Harry, we are related," Ruebella replied, "In fact, you're related to a lot of the people here."

Harry stared at Ruebella, speechless and mildly horrified.

"Because of all the inter-breeding betw—"

"You mean inbreeding?" Harry demanded, now looking distinctly horrified, "Oh God! I'm a redneck!"

"Harry," Ruebella said, slightly amused, "it's okay—"

"Yeah," Harry replied, throwing his arms up, "because we're all family here, right?"

"What's wrong with him?" Mrs. Weasley asked curiously, apparently Harry hadn't managed to outrun her… damn that Malfoy boy for thwarting him.

"I told him about the interbreeding and he freaked out," Ruebella replied.

"Yeah," Harry said to the people who were staring at him like he was crazy; clearly these people needed to reevaluate their definitions of crazy. "Because, who knows, I might be my own grandfather!"

"That's impossible," Mrs. Weasley replied gently, and the Weasley twins looked at each other, raising their brows and Harry hated to wonder what they were thinking about.

"Okay then," Harry retorted, "since you can't accept that I could marry my father's mother, and I may very well do so. Let me freak out about something else—I might have six fingers!"

Ruebella groaned and rubbed her temples. "Why don't you count and see?"

"Well, I would," Harry responded, "but because of all the genetic disorders I have, I am unable to think in any sort of complicated manner—outside of insulting all of you for making me like this."

"Harry," the little future romance novel addict explained with a strange, slightly perverted smile on her face, "because of magic—"

"Oh, go read a romance novel," Harry snapped at her, pulling his wand out of his pocket, "or better yet, come over here and let me cover you in multi-colored dots, because in case you hadn't noticed, I'm having an emo moment over here."

"All of this is completely beside the point," the tall, devilishly handsome blonde man interrupted, "That child accused my son of having something as inferior as lice."

"I was just trying to understand the bad villain look," Harry explained and then he leveled his wand and pointed it at everyone in the assembled group, "and the next person to ruin my emo moment gets splattered with multi-colored dots."

"Harry," Ruebella warned, "I told you not to do that somewhere you could ruin things."

"Well, it's too bad you're not my mother," Harry replied, "or I might listen to you, but as it were, she's dead, so I don't have to listen to anyone…unless, because of the 'inter-breeding', you are, in fact, my mother."

"And if I were?" Ruebella asked curiously.

"Then I would scream like a little girl," Harry replied, "and quite possibly end up accidentally splattering everyone with multi-colored dots, so the point would clearly be moot."

"You're a little pain, you know that?" Ruebella told Harry, brushing his hair affectionately.

"It's part of the job description," Harry replied cheekily. "But speaking of inbreeding, no offense to either the living Malfoys or the Weasleys, just the ancestors, but did the two of your families work together to achieve the hair colors? I'm quite stunned at the hues you people have created."

"Limits, Harry," Ruebella reminded.

"I'm curious!" Harry exclaimed, "I'm trying to learn, damnit, and this is the encouragement I get!"

Ruebella swatted lightly at him and directed Harry to: "Shut your mouth, apologize, and get on the train."

"I can't apologize if you want me to be quiet," Harry exclaimed, "It doesn't work that way! Haven't you ever done those 'put the scene in order' questions?"

"Yes," she replied with a grin, "but you seem like the type to put them out of order on purpose for comical reasons. I was just trying to speak your language."

Harry had to admit that was a pretty clever cover-up for a mistake, but Harry wasn't quite ready to give up and be put on the train…where was the stupid thing anyway? He'd been told it was bright red and Harry couldn't help but wonder why they let Gryffindors design everything. He was sure having everything red was nice, you know, in Hell, but it gets tiring to look at.

In fact, Harry had half a mind to believe that a Gryffindor decided they should all wear dresses.

Of course, Harry was basing this belief and many others off the décor in the Gryffindor Common Room, which he was allowed into because he was all nice and cozy with the Gryffindor Head of House…and he of course got to see all the other House Common Rooms because he was all nice and cozy with the deputy headmistress, so Harry knew exactly which houses had fashion sense…

Then Harry found himself being gently pushed away from the blond Malfoy creature… Harry wasn't done with him yet! Ruebella couldn't make him leave now!

Then the pale, foreboding man (foreboding in the manner an incubus is foreboding, that is) grabbed Harry's arm and declared, in that uppity, 'I'm gay and know it, but you better not say a word' tone, "You will not be leaving until this child apologizes to my son for—"

"Even suggesting that such a well-protected head might even be able to get a single, healthy louse within fifteen meters of it," Harry finished brightly. "Then yes, I do apologize, staunchly and readily to your blonde Highness, because clearly a Queen such as yourself couldn't produce off-spring capable of contracting an ailment as low as 'the lice.'"

Harry just smirked up at the man and tried to ignore the uncomfortable, shocked silence that was rapidly spreading all around him, like the uneasy feeling that was coiling in Harry's gut.

The man knelt down enough so that his eye level was somewhat near Harry's and Harry carefully leant away, his wand clenched tightly in his hand - though multi-colored dots wouldn't do much to stop the man from killing him, they might serve to be distracting enough that Harry could start running away.

"What's your name?" the man asked coldly and slightly speculatively.

Harry blinked and glanced around him before replying, "Harry…"

"No last name?" the man inquired, as though this were the part he was most interested in.

"Well, I have one," Harry replied, "but if I tell you, you might be able to track me down and, like, break my radio or eat my candy, or perhaps do something similarly horrifying."

The man cracked a smile, so Harry figured he wasn't in too much danger, though the albino man seemed to ooze danger like a bad action hero.

"You aren't worried for your personal safety?" the man asked curiously. "You seem like a realistic child—"

"And when I look at you, I think, realistically, that you'd like to hit me where it hurts with minimal pain to yourself," Harry explained, "and so I don't think you'd try to rape and/or kill me because you'd have to tolerate my complaints in order to so, so..." Harry smiled and shrugged.

"Interesting," the man replied, still looking slightly thoughtful, "I have another question—"

"Well, I'm no Ms. Cleo," Harry replied brightly, "but I'll do my best."

This appeared to go over most peoples' heads, but he paid them no heed.

"Where did you learn such vernacular?" the man asked curiously and like he used words like that daily, but he wasn't fooling anyone… and if he thought Harry didn't know what vernacular meant, he had another think coming.

"Primary school," Harry replied with a smirk, "Had to do something to keep the other kids from picking on me…turns out a thesaurus goes a long way on the battlefield…or playground, but I find it to be pretty much the same difference."

The man smiled and appeared to process this and stood up again, and then held his hand out.

Harry hesitantly took the gloved hand after checking to make sure there wasn't a poisonous snake up his sleeve or something… and the man actually had a very firm handshake for being so feminine, and Harry was aware of Ruebella breathing a heavy sigh or relief.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy," the man said, "and I do hope that you and my son will become good friends."

Harry waited until his hand was safely returned to him before he replied, "You are some kind of crazy bipolar, _Luscious_. First you yell at me for being near your son and now you want me to hang out with him."

"It's Lucius," the man instructed Harry firmly, carefully pronouncing every syllable, "However; you may call me Mr. Malfoy—"

"What is it with you adults and giving people permission to call you by your last name? It's like public property anyway…"

* * *

Harry crossed his arms and sank down further into his seat as he glared deeply at Ronald Weasley, who was glaring right back him from the seat across from him…they'd been on the train doing this for a good twenty minutes… this was, also, honestly the longest amount of time he'd had to endure Voldemrot's presence. 

And yon Voldemrot had a lean and hungry look on her face that made Harry worry for his virtue…or at least a few layers of skin that the bird of prey could easily remove.

Then the door was opened somewhat hesitantly, and Harry broke his glare away from Ron and focused it on the interloper. The door suddenly opened more confidently and Harry smiled when he saw the boy that he'd met while getting fitted for his dresses.

"Hello," the boy greeted brightly, unprompted, "I guess you didn't get out of going to Hogwarts then?"

"Not quite," Harry replied, "and everyone seems to want to off me; they'd trapped me with a rabid bird and a boy I'm sure would kill me if given a proper reason."

The boy smiled at this and then moved onto why he was really here. "Well, I've lost my toad; I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"You do know that frogs went out of style years ago, don't you?" Ronald Weasley asked, and Harry must admit he found that to be rather rude, after all it wasn't like anyone actually wanted a frog, and this boy had a toad anyway.

"It's a toad," Harry corrected, "and it wasn't like he wanted it, someone gave it to him."

"At least he got a new pet," Ronald Weasley replied grumpily. This child had way too much resentment for people as far as Harry was concerned… "I got my brother's old pet."

And then he pulled his rodent out of his pocket, and Harry squealed and pulled his feet up to his chest. Voldemrot, however — the freak — looked very, very interested in the rat.

"Wh-why," Harry asked, disgusted and, not that he would admit it, terrified, "_why_ do you keep a _rat_ in your pocket?"

The rat squirmed in Ron's hands and Harry gagged and shuffled back further into his seat. "Oh my God!" Harry gasped in horror, "Put the damn thing away!"

Ron held the squirming rodent by its tail and held it out in front of Harry, smirking, "What?" he asked, "Don't you like rats?"

Voldemrot made a slight squawking noise from beside Harry, and with a motion that was almost a twitch, Harry unlocked the owl's cage and the bird pushed the door open and launched herself at the rat.

"Bloody insane!" Ron yelled at Harry and pushed his rat back inside his robes to protect it from the hungry owl. "Were you trying to kill Scabbers?"

"It's gross!" Harry retorted, and Voldemrot gave up and went to perch back on her cage. "Stupid gross, diseased rats…I can't stay here with you and your dirty rat! Tell you what…" Harry blinked and looked at the slightly amused and confused boy in the doorway.

"Um… Neville," the boy replied after he gathered what Harry wanted.

"I'll help you look for your toad, because I can't stay here," Harry told Neville. "Come on."

He pushed himself up from his seat and scampered past Ron quickly, hoping to avoid the concealed rat completely.

Harry turned back to look at Voldemrot and told her, "If you want to escape, now would be the time to do so."

The owl hooted at him in a condescending manner and Harry glared at her.

* * *

"Hello, fellow Hogwarts students," Harry exclaimed brightly, after throwing the compartment door open on the canoodling couple, his hand covering his eyes, "I am currently aware of your position and I was just wondering if either of you decided to let your kinky side out and use a poor innocent toad in your perverse activities? If so, could you please clean and return said toad to me." 

"What in hell is wrong with you?" a highly embarrassed female demanded.

"Better question," Harry replied, "Have you seen the toad or not?"

"No, we haven't seen your toad," an aggravated male replied. "Now leave, you little pest!"

"I'm afraid my pestilence is just beginning," Harry replied with a grin. "Have you heard anyone discussing having found a toad?"

"No, we've been in here the whole time!" the girl replied, annoyed. "Will you leave?"

"Will you please make yourself decent?" Harry countered, "My hand is going numb, and may I compliment your boyfriend on his inability to get it up, because I find that to be more likely than a sixteen year old having stamina…because you have been in here for hours, right?"

"We haven't seen your stupid toad, so leave!" the boy hissed, angrily.

"I'm afraid it's not my toad, and I'm going to be forced to remove my hand momentarily to restore blood flow, so you're going to be exposing yourself to an eleven year old, with a camera, that can easily send something, like a photo to your parents," Harry replied. "Now tell me whether or not you've heard or seen anything about the toad?"

Harry heard the rustle of fabric then, and the girl said, quickly, "I heard the Weasley twins and—"

"It's a tarantula," Harry replied, "I've explored that rumor; you won't be getting rid of me so easily — are you decent yet?"

"Yeah," the boy replied grudgingly and Harry dropped his hand and studied the two of them. They certainly looked ruffled enough to have been having sex or something of a sexual variety.

"Now, the toad," Harry said with a smile, "Have you seen it, or shall I try a summoning spell? And yes, I can do one; the Weasley twins taught it to me."

* * *

"There you are, Neville," Harry replied, carefully holding the toad, "You might want to wash him or something first though." 

Neville looked momentarily confused, and took hold of the toad, asking, "Why?"

"No reason," Harry countered calmly as he carefully wiped his hands on Neville's robes. "Just a suggestion."

"All right," Neville replied softly, "Thanks for your help."

"No problem," Harry replied. "I'm skilled in interrogation techniques; might as well use them for good. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I ought to make myself scarce before that girl realizes those dots aren't going to come out of her new silk robes."

"What dots?" Neville asked, confused, "What did you do?"

"The less you know," Harry replied, "the safer you are… and, um… hide the toad."

Then Harry took off running and a girl pushed her way out of a compartment, covered in little multi-colored dots, and Neville just barely managed to hide the toad in time.

Harry skidded into a compartment further down the way and slid the door shut behind him, while the girl banged on the door, yelling for Harry to come out.

* * *

"Wow," Harry commented dryly as he looked around at the other first years in the compartment, trying not to look like it was much of an effort holding the door closed, "this is like close encounters of the ugly kind or something, because _damn_…" 

Harry felt his eyebrows hit his hairline when he caught sight of Draco Malfoy sitting next to this horribly ugly girl, whose face looked like it had been squashed together.

"Really, Malfoy, your self-esteem must be something awful if you're hanging out with people this ugly," Harry tsked, "What would your father say to see someone as pretty as you with people ugly enough to make a House Elf thankful for their looks?"

The girl drew herself up and sneered at him, Harry admired her technique. Clearly he would have to practice that look a bit more in the mirror so he could acquire a bit more talent in that area.

"And you two," Harry nodded in the direction of these horrible troll-like boys, "what pair of ugly creatures accidentally bred to create the nuclear fallout that is your face?"

Harry decided to not say anything about the two horrid looking girls, one of whom was the pug-faced girl mentioned earlier and the other this large masculine oaf of a girl… Harry felt rather bad for her and hoped she grew into at least some part of her face, because that was like Night of the Living Hideousness or something.

"But, you know, I guess it's kinda good that you all hang out together," Harry continued brightly, "because together, with Malfoy mixed in, you make one average looking, albeit overweight, person… and that's something."

All of his comments were beginning to grate on the two large, ugly boys, and it looked like they might just try to throw their weight around… so Harry decided he might as well just throw himself over the edge.

"And the lesson we learn with all of you," Harry finished firmly, "is that inbreeding is bad because…well, I don't even need to finish that sentence, do I? Or have your brains suffered as well?"

They began cracking their knuckles and stood up, looking like two great big monoliths. One of them geared up to throw a punch at him and Harry threw open the door and dodged between the girl with the ruined robes and her boyfriend, before taking off and running down the train.

The girl decided to give up on catching Harry, for the moment, and turned to look at all the kids in the compartment.

"Do any of you know who that kid is?"

They all shook their heads and Draco decided to do the same - after all, no one liked a snitch and his father said he had to try and get along with the boy... if it were possible.

"I'm trying to find the little terror," the girl continued, "Do you see what he did to my new robes?"

She showcased her multi-colored dots adorning the formerly unmarred robes. The girls gasped in sympathy.

"There's no telling what that boy will do next," the girl's boyfriend added, "From what I can gather, he's been making a nuisance of himself all up and down the train."

* * *

Harry finally skidded to a halt and leaned against a wall, panting, and then he became aware of a few boys complaining about how hungry they were and they started talking about what they were going to be buying from a witch with a food cart. 

Harry threw the door open and asked, "There's a lady selling food?"

"Yeah," one of the boys replied, "she sells all sorts of things, mainly candy, but she has some real food."

"When's she going to start coming around?" Harry asked curiously.

"About thirty minutes," the boy replied. "She starts at the front of the train, though. If you're really hungry, you could probably catch her up there."

"All right," Harry replied as he turned to head away, "Thanks, guys… and nice hat — or is that your _hair_?"

Before they could do anything in retaliation, Harry was gone, and they looked at each other in confusion as though asking each other what exactly that was about. One of the boys got up to close the door to the compartment and then a girl covered with these little specks of paint grabbed the door.

"Have you seen a little boy with black hair and green eyes about this tall?" She held her hand up to about the height the boy had been.

"Yeah, he was just here," one of the boys said, "Why?"

"Do you know where he's going?" the girl demanded.

"He was asking about the food cart…" the boy replied slowly, then asked again, "Why?"

"Oh, God," the girl gasped to her small following, "He's going after the food cart! There's no telling what he'll do with it!"

* * *

"Um, hi," Harry said brightly as he caught the witch right as she left the room where the food and everything was kept. "Um, my name's Harry, I think Dumbledore and everyone told you to give me whatever I wanted and they'd pay for it with my money, right?" 

"Yes," the woman said kindly, "I believe that's right, what would—"

"I want every single chocolate frog you have," Harry retorted with what he hoped was a straight face.

The woman stared at him for a moment and then asked, "What?"

"All the chocolate frogs," Harry repeated, "I want to give them to everyone on the train so that it'll help me make friends easier. I have a really hard time making friends; ask anybody."

"I'm afraid I will have to ask someone," the witch replied. "That's a very large request."

"I know," Harry replied, "but this is my time to make a first impression, and I really want to make friends at _this_ school."

Harry tried to look small and pitiful… this was his best look; he could do this one without even checking the mirror once a week to make sure his technique was still good.

"I've met so many people I like," Harry continued imploringly, "and I just really want to have everyone like me, and everyone likes chocolate…"

"All right," the woman sighed and she handed Harry the little box of chocolate frogs she had on the cart and then went back into the storeroom, emerging with a large cardboard box.

Harry took hold of both boxes and thanked the woman heartily before walking away, smirking widely.

* * *

The group found the witch when she was about halfway through the train and asked her about Harry's whereabouts and doings, and they were, quite frankly, surprised at the answer. 

"He bought all of the chocolate frogs?" the girl demanded in shock, "Why?"

"So he could give them away to make friends," the witch replied, "I thought it was a rather cute idea myself."

"Yeah," the girl muttered breathlessly, "very cute."

They all watched the witch move away before the girl asked, "What could he do with a bunch of chocolate frogs?"

Draco coughed and replied softly, "I have a… vague idea…"

/line here/

Harry was about to maneuver his way into one of the cramped bathrooms when he found Neville…or rather, Neville found him.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked, staring at Harry and his box in confusion.

Harry looked up and down the train and then said, "Not out here, come into the bathroom."

The two of them and Harry's box somehow managed to fit into the bathroom with a bit of careful maneuvering and Harry explained his plans to the other boy.

"This is a box full of chocolate frogs," Harry whispered, "and I'm going to unwrap all of them and put them all in the box and then set them loose on the train."

"Why?" Neville asked, looking completely bewildered.

Harry blinked and tried to think up some sort explanation, and settled on shrugging.

"You must have some reason," Neville replied, "I mean…you're setting like a hundred chocolate frogs loose on a train."

Harry shrugged again and then asked, "Do you want to help?"

Neville looked a bit taken aback and he replied, after a moment of thought, "I'll help you unwrap a few, but I don't want to get in trouble before we even get to school."

"Awesome!" Harry exclaimed and he set about opening the box. When the box was opened, Harry tossed Neville a couple of frogs and told him he could keep those.

* * *

Neville got tired and decided to leave after they'd unwrapped a couple hundred frogs…apparently there were quite a few hundred frogs in the large box… so Harry was left to his monumental task alone, though he didn't lose momentum. 

Harry had settled on the toilet, the box open before him, and he set the cards on the sink next to him. The pile was slowly building as the population of frogs in the box did as well. Neville had decided to keep all of the cards from the frogs he'd unwrapped (apparently he collected the things)… Harry thought them to be as useful as used wrapping paper, but whatever…

Harry moved onto another frog, and then another, until he hit the last one.

"And you," Harry told the frog he held firmly in his hand, "are for me, for a job well-done."

Harry happily ate the frog and then closed the box filled with hopping frogs. Then he stashed the wrapping and containers behind the toilet and pocketed the chocolate frog cards…

Harry moved to the door and unlocked it, checking to see if the coast was clear. It was. He took hold of the box and shimmied it, and himself, out of the small space. Then Harry headed for the back of the train.

Harry passed by the witch on his way there, and he politely thanked her for helping him on his quest for acceptance, but he didn't linger long.

When he reached end of the train, he set the box down on the floor and wondered when exactly he should commence his nefarious, and rather ingenious, if he did say so himself, plan.

"Stop right there!" the girl he'd splattered with dots yelled and she ran toward him, followed by a small group, and Harry decided sooner was better than later. "You little brat!"

"You think I'm a brat now?" Harry demanded, then he smirked and offered, "Trust me, honey, you haven't seen anything yet."

Then Harry pulled his foot back and kicked the box firmly, sending it careening a few feet where it landed on its side, and chocolate frogs flew out, hoping down the hallway. The frogs left trails of chocolate webbed feet wherever they went; chocolate was smeared on walls and doors and they simply continued down the long line of the train…

Harry smirked as the girl's eyes widened and the next thing she knew, she was hit with the plague of frogs. Members of her group dodged into compartments and Harry decided that wouldn't work, so he jumped over the box and ran along with the hopping frogs, throwing doors open as he went, allowing the obscene amount of frogs to fill every nook and cranny of the train.

Girls screamed and ran around while boys chased after them; many of the older students had their wands out as they chased down the chocolate frogs. Doors ahead of Harry opened when they heard the commotion, and Harry stopped his progress, admiring the chaos he had wrought.

…Or would wreaked be better?

* * *


	8. Manipulate It

Thanks to all my reviewers, you're utterly fantastic the lot of you...and timydamonkey gets props once more for a line, the Harry one to snape about the forest and also for betaing...I would rather not talk about what a certain coulpe of lines would be if not for her /blushes and hides in corner/ and there's a bit in here where there's a really bad shift change...my fault, I wanted it that way...and it's moulding no matter what anyone says! (both are my fault, beta fixed them, I screwed them up again) 

Anyway, enjoy the chapter the rest of the sorting scene should be up soon, after all, it's mostly written...I just have to tie them together

**Chapter Eight: Manipulate It**

By the time the train had reached the station in Hogsmeade, the spells on the chocolate frogs had worn off and they were slowly melting into the carpeting on the train. The prefects and the head boy and girl had sent an owl to Hogwarts to let the teachers know what happened, so Harry ended up hiding in the bathroom where the initial crime had taken place in order to avoid being lynched.

There was a slight knock on the door and Neville's hesitant voice reached him. "Um… Harry, you might want to open the door."

The warning in Neville's voice made him realize that it would be best for him to follow instruction, rather than argue, and Harry hopped up off the toilet and opened the door.

"Auntie Minerva!" Harry exclaimed, "How lovely to see you!"

Harry's ear was seized and he was pulled from the bathroom and placed in the center of the train hallway, where a good deal of the students was gathered.

"Did you do this?" Auntie Minerva demanded as she stared at the melted globs of chocolate on the train.

"Um..." Harry bit his lip and looked around the train thoughtfully before replying slowly, "Maybe…"

"You're cleaning this up," she told him sternly.

"Okay," Harry replied quickly, just in case they decided to give him an actual punishment… like writing lines.

"You don't have a problem with that?" Auntie Minerva asked, slightly confused, most children would be horrified at the prospect.

"No," Harry replied, "the Dursleys made me clean everything, cleaning's nothing."

He suddenly realized that he might not even _have_ a punishment if the look on Auntie Minerva's face was anything to go by. Harry decided he might as well milk the situation.

"And once every two months," Harry continued, "they made me clean the moulding with _my_ toothbrush and lye soap."

Auntie Minerva looked completely horrified and gasped out slowly, "You know what, Harry, dear? You don't have to clean the train."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, "I'm wicked good at getting stains out of carpeting."

"No, we'll take care of it," Auntie Minerva replied with a smile, "but can you tell me why you did it?"

Harry looked quite confused and explained; "I set chocolate frogs loose on the train to terrorize everyone… I mean, come on, who wouldn't have done it?"

"You're talking about it like it was a good idea," Auntie Minerva exclaimed, scandalized.

He threw his arm out in the direction of the chocolate covered train and declared, "It was a bloody brilliant idea!"

Harry knew immediately that that was a bad thing to do, and before he could get himself into bigger trouble he decided to pass the blame onto someone else.

"What if I told you that it wasn't me that did it?" Harry asked quickly, "What if it was someone else's idea and they made me do it under threat of something terrible…"

Auntie Minerva looked rather exasperated, but asked him, "Who?"

Harry looked at the people closest to him and picked out a boy that he probably wouldn't like that already didn't like him, "It was him!"

"Oh, really?" Auntie Minerva inquired, "And you know him well enough to say he made you do this?"

"Well, of course," Harry replied, "I mean, look at the train; he clearly has put me up to it."

"What's his name?"

Harry blinked and blurted out the first name that came to mind, "Zacharias."

Auntie Minerva's and the boy's jaw dropped and Harry complimented himself on his mad, _mad_ name guessing skills.

"So you see!" Harry exclaimed, "He clearly put me up to it."

Auntie Minerva looked between the boy and Harry, then she asked, "You just thought that name up and got lucky, didn't you?"

Harry's face split with a wide smirk and he nodded, replying, "Yeah, I'm completely brilliant, aren't I?"

Auntie Minerva cleared her throat and her face began turning red, so she moved to the door of the train quickly, her shoulders shaking. She was almost halfway there before Harry realized what was going on.

"Oh my God!" Harry exclaimed, "You're laughing, aren't you?"

The woman in question covered her face and began shaking more with her silent laughter.

"You were trying to punish me the whole time," Harry accused, "and you thought it was funny! I bet all of you thought it was funny and you're going to try and get me in trouble! Well, guess what," Harry demanded, "you've broken the adult rule; I know that you think it's funny and so now you can't punish me!"

"Please, Potter," Snape drawled as he swooped onto the train like the giant black vulture of doom he was, "you of all people should know that some rules were made to be broken."

"Not true," Harry replied, "Besides, the adult rule is law! Not to mention, I only break stupid rules that have no point."

"Like that 'No going into the Forbidden Forest' rule?" Snape inquired, "That one's stupid and needs to be broken?"

"Okay," Harry sighed, holding a finger up, "I _might_ concede that that rule definitely has some validity, but notice, I still broke it, so there's obviously something stupid and pointless about it."

"Like what?" Snape demanded, "I, personally, think that it's a good idea not to go into the Forbidden Forest."

"Like even having a dangerous forest at a school for children," Harry shot back, "That seems pretty stupid. Not only that, but I am a child, and thus I am expected to be curious and go along poking my nose into other people's business. Even if you criticize my behavior, you have no leg to stand on. And if I could disappear your leg, I would," Harry added, crossing his arms, "Just to make a point."

"Well," Snape said slowly, looking at the chocolate covered mess that was the interior of the Hogwarts Express, "clearly the punishment that was decided upon fit the crime."

"Actually," Harry began with a bright smile, "I'm not getting punished, and even if I was, you can't punish me because all of you find the whole thing hilarious and I know that you do. The adult rule has been broken. I win, bitch."

"He's not getting punished?" Snape and most of the students demanded, staring at Auntie Minerva… but Harry wasn't worried; Auntie Minerva was tough, she could beat the crap out of the Devil and/or Hitler in one fell swoop, say nothing of Voldemrot's namesake.

Auntie Minerva grabbed Snape by the shoulder and whispered something to him.

"That's beside the point! You are the Deputy Headmistress; it is not your place to provide favori—"

"From what I've heard about you, Snape," Harry declared, "you are so not one to lecture about favoring, and besides," Harry said imploringly, putting on his best puppy-dog-face. "I'm a horribly poor, pathetic young man, plagued by misfortune and abuse, also I'm defensive and insecure… you should pity me, not hate me. And all Auntie Minerva's doing is providing me with the nurturing I've never had."

Snape reacted just as Harry expected he would; he huffed and he puffed and glared the life force out of Harry's body. Unfortunately for him, Harry had proved on more than one occasion that the power of the Death Glare had no affect on his person was only minorly wounded after the attack.

Harry fells the need to inform that said injuries might have been present from before the attack, and if not, assures that the wounds are only of the paper cut variety.

"Listen here, you little—"

"Severus," Auntie Minerva yelled sharply, "you will leave him alone, and I will handle the situation later."

"Surely you can't be serious," Snape replied, "The boy is an absolute nuisance, and he is clearly using your affection for him to his advantage."

"I'm inclined to agree with him," Harry added, and then continued quickly, "about the first part. I am not using your affection for my own devices; that would be completely wrong, and highly unjustified…" Harry bit his lip thoughtfully and carried on, "Though I can _completely_ understand how one could come to that conclusion, but seriously, even I am not that bad."

Snape cleared his throat and Auntie Minerva smiled and said, "Well, I'm afraid certain evidence speaks against just how bad you really are, and you will be punished for this. I'm just going to have to get creative."

"Well, do try not to hurt yourself," Harry told her with a salute, and he turned to leave the train, "and I look forward to whatever you think is good enough punishment to keep me on the clean cut path. And just to remind you, if you do punish me then you're rending your adulthood void."

"But before I allow you to leave this train," Auntie Minerva called, "you have to promise me that you won't get into any more trouble… at least before you get sorted."

"I think you put too much faith in me," Harry told Auntie Minerva as he shook his head, "but I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry was with one of the hideous oafs he'd met on the train (or rather pissed off on the train), Neville, and an Indian girl who was staring at him like her cooties were hungry for a virgin sacrifice… Harry was deeply worried for his virtue.

"So," Harry said conversationally into the silence, "what's everyone's name? I know Neville."

"I'm Parvati," the girl declared immediately, "and I'm hoping for Gryffindor."

"I'm Harry, and I'm currently hoping to fall off the face of the earth; of course that would be too easy, but I can still hope."

"Vincent Crabbe," the boy stated gruffly, looking like he'd done his thinking for the week with that comment.

"So, Verando Crank," Harry asked brightly, "tell me, are you genetically predisposed to be that ugly or were you attacked by rabid dogs as a small child? I'm leaning towards the latter, then that way I won't have to think up some creative way to insult your pedigree."

The boy appeared to be smarter than he looked because he understood the insult, and growled slightly in anger.

"Now, now," Harry said brightly, "if it was your parentage, which it probably was, you can't blame yourself. It was your father's fault for breeding with his sister in the first place."

"Inter-breeding between magical people ensures the survival of our magic!" the girl exclaimed in clear offense.

"And it also ensures that you have the six fingers and toes to utilize it," Harry said with a smirk, "and the genetic disorders to weed the weak out, right? I'm sure you'll agree when your kid is born with four eyes. I imagine it would be a very desirable trait…"

"My child will not have four eyes!" the girl yelled back, her high-pitched voice ringing in Harry's ear. She drew the attention of another boat, whose occupants promptly turned to stare at them.

"Take a picture," Harry yelled to them, "That way I can flick you off whenever you look at me, even when we're not in the same room!"

When they glared at him and turned around, Harry huffed and crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. Even that small motion made the boat wobble a bit, but Harry thought nothing of it until he saw the girl, Parfait, grab the side of the boat in anxiety. Harry's brow rose.

Harry took hold of his side of the boat and began rocking it slightly… not enough to cause them to capsize though. To Harry's delight, the girl squealed and took hold of the Crank boy in order to keep herself from falling, making the boy give an annoyed grunt.

"Aren't you being a bit mean?" Neville asked Harry quietly while the girl glared at Harry for rocking the boat.

"It's probable," Harry replied, and he rocked the boat a few more times, just to shake the girl up a little bit more. He continued a bit too innocently, "You know, they haven't had a boat tip over in exactly fifty years tonight; I heard Auntie Minerva talking about it."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" the girl, Private, demanded, glaring at Harry for scaring her.

"I don't know," Harry replied with a smirk, "I'm one to believe that rocking the boat's a good thing, besides that," Harry's smirk widened, "I heard there's a giant squid in the lake and flesh eating mermaids… I think it'd be interesting to meet them."

"They live in the ocean — both of them!" the girl retorted angrily, "They wouldn't be in a lake, and if they were they'd be all the way at the bottom!"

"Seeing as how I don't know how to swim," Harry told her with a smile, "I figure that down would be the only direction I'd be going… and that doesn't apply only to swimming, by the way."

"Not like we couldn't figure that out from your behavior on the train," the girl huffed crossing her arms, "I think you're absolutely horrid and you deserve to drown."

"It's a shame then," Harry sighed, "that I probably wouldn't drown. I have this habit of not dying in impossible to survive situations. I personally think I did something quite horrible in a past life and now I can get out of anything the easy way this time around." Harry smirked, adding, "Besides…it's always fun to dig yourself deeper into trouble—"

"At least that way nobody would have to waste their time digging you a grave," the girl muttered, her glare getting almost on par with Snape's.

"Just for that," he told her with a wicked smirk, "I'm tipping this boat over."

Then he stood up and the boat wobbled dangerously; clearly these things weren't made very well. Harry spread his arms and began shifting his weight, and amazingly no one in the other boats appeared to notice that they were losing speed and falling behind.

"What are you doing?" the girl demanded, looking like she was going to move to stop him; apparently she was dumber than the boy next to her who was simply holding on and sitting still.

"Rocking the boat," Harry replied brightly and the stupid girl stood up in a panic to stop him and sent the boat toppling over.

All four of them were thrown into the water, and Harry managed to kick his way up to the surface, and then make his way over to the overturned boat.

Harry grabbed the wood of the boat, and then saw Neville and the Crank fellow pop out of the water next to him.

"Thought you said you couldn't swim?" Neville muttered as more of a question and accusation than a comment.

"I can't," Harry replied with a mysterious smile, "Part of my mad, mostly undiscovered skills, I daresay."

"Well, we were going to save you," Neville declared as he took hold of the boat as well.

Harry looked between Neville and the Crank boy and replied, "Dubious, but I appreciate the effort."

Then Harry realized one of their number was missing. "Where's Pirate?"

"It's Parvati!" the girl yelled from the other side of the boat, "and I can't believe you did that, you little nitwit!"

"Actually," Harry yelled back, "I was not, in fact, the one responsible for the shift of weight in the boat—"

"What are you trying to say?" the girl demanded, enraged.

"Cut down on the marshmallow cakes!" Harry yelled as loudly as he could, "You fat cow!"

"OI!" Hagrid's loud voice boomed from across the lake, and Harry swore he could see the water rippling from the sheer volume of the yell. "Wha's goin' on back there?"

"I rocked the boat!" Harry yelled back, loudly, "Apparently, there's just nothing that can contain me!"

* * *

"No, no, no," Harry explained, shaking his head, his sopping wet hair flopping across his forehead, "I only _rocked_ the boat, _she_," Harry pointed just so they knew which she it was, "made it capsize. The shift of her weight caused the rickety thing to flip. I am and was in perfect control of my balance at all times," Harry continued, "and so we were in no danger of flipping when I stood up; it was when she stood up and grabbed at me that we flipped over."

Auntie Minerva glared at him and then tapped her wand against the crown of his head, mumbling something, and Harry was instantly dry, even between his toes.

"Is what he's saying true?" Auntie Minerva asked as she worked the same magic on the other three from the boat.

"Well, he was rocking the boat pretty badly when he stood up," Neville conceded, "but we didn't actually tip over until she stood up, and he said he was going to tip—"

"Yes, I said I would," Harry explained quickly, "but that doesn't mean I would. In all honesty, I was just going to shake everyone up a bit and then leave it at — how did you get up here so fast?"

"Magic," Auntie Minerva replied with a slight smile.

"Well, I can tell I'm not going to get any straight answers out of you people anymore," Harry muttered.

"Well, it seems as though the blame can't be readily placed at the moment and I don't have to worry about you doing that again, and not only that, but we're holding up the feast," Auntie Minerva sighed, "Come along now, all of you."

She waved them all along and then seized Harry's shoulder and told him softly, "And I apologize for not telling you sooner, but you must call me Professor McGonagall when not in private."

Harry smiled brightly and replied, with a mock-salute, "Can do, Auntie — Professor Auntie Minerva… McGonagall…"

"Professor McGonagall," Auntie Minerva said again and Harry repeated it with her, nodding his understanding.

"Very well, everyone follow me!" Auntie Minerva yelled and she began walking quickly, leading them into the Great Hall, Harry following at a slower speed.

He rolled his eyes as everyone gasped in amazement; he'd seen it before. He decided to make sure everyone knew it too, it made everyone like him less, and he couldn't wait to see their reactions when they found out whom he was.

"You know, we should all love each other," Harry said in his best camp councilor voice, staring around deploringly at his year mates. "After all, we're in this boat together…or would it be castle?" Harry blinked and tilted his head thoughtfully, "I personally prefer shack."

That, invariably, led to Harry singing "Love Shack."

"—So come on and bring your juke box money," Harry sang brightly, which only gained him more glares from his peers, "the love shack is a little ole place where we can get together—"

But all it took to quiet Harry was a look from Aunti — Professor McGonagall, but as soon as she turned away Harry began singing under his breath and dancing enough to make up for the loss of volume.

Harry heard some kid mutter about wrestling trolls and Harry rolled his eyes and declared, "Are you daft? You're going to be putting on a hat; I suppose it could be something terrible if you're worried something fierce about getting lice. Although, I'm personally more worried about getting my hair greasy from Malfoy's gel — right on with the bad villain look, by the way, Malfoy. I love B-rated movies like you inbreeders love your cousins. But, we're all related here so we know exactly what I mean, am I right?"

That got him a pointed cough from Auntie Miner — _Professor McGonagall,_ and Harry rolled his eyes and groaned in exasperation, "I'm sorry for my rather distasteful and inappropriate use of sarcasm, and I hope I haven't insulted you or your ancestry overly much."

"You know one of our teachers?" a brunette girl asked, her hair looking like she'd taken a brush to naturally curly hair and the result was a bushy mane.

"I recently moved with her niece actually," Harry replied, "We're very close."

"You and the teacher or you and her niece?" the girl asked somewhat haughtily, but Harry figured if he could make his hair look that bad he would be proud of himself as well.

"Both of them," Harry replied, "We dress up in frilly little dresses and have ornate tea parties on the veranda while gossiping about the newlywed neighbors, and whether or not they let the dog sleep on their bed."

Before Harry could see the girl's reaction to that comment, his ear was seized and he was pulled away from everyone else and pulled beside the chair; it appeared he was going to receive a talking to… Harry figured this wouldn't do much for his reputation.


	9. The Trick is to Keep Breathing

Okay, There is a small bit of Gryffindor bashing, I admit…but there's a bit of Ravenclaw bashing as well…chapter might not be as funny as the others, I don't know, I'm really not so objective with my writing…

Hope Hermione's enjoyable…I enjoy her…and I hope the sorting scene or rather the rant after it goes over well…anyway, I'm tired and I have a headache and there are live things in my crab tank that aren't crabs, and I have to actually write the story from now on…I'm out of written scenes for a while…damn /goes to sleep in corner/

But anyway, enjoy. _And thanks to my beta and my reviewers--all of you are quite fantastic!_

_**Chapter Nine: The Trick is to Keep Breathing**_

"I thought you wanted to make friends." It was Auntie Minerva - for Harry was never going to remember to call her Professor - he could tell.

"Oh, I do," Harry replied mock-earnestly, "I want nothing more than to have the other kids play with me and like me."

"Okay, let's try this another way; do you want detention the first day of school?" she asked sternly.

Harry pursed his lips and tried to look like he was thinking about it. "I don't know, can you describe these detentions?"

"Very well, then—"

"How about we see if I can behave," Harry cut in, "and I'll actually put some effort into it, okay?"

Auntie Minerva gave him a firm look and replied, "One more chance, Harry."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, "and did you remember to change my name on the stupid role thing? I hope I don't have to explain the fact that I'm not a potter again, because I will."

"I know you will," Auntie Minerva replied affectionately, "You seem to like the logical explanation you made up."

"It is very logical, isn't it?" Harry asked, grinning, "It makes an incredible amount of sense, really."

"Go stand back with the other children, and do try to be polite or at least tasteful, and if you decide to change your name back to Potter, do let me know."

"Can do," Harry replied with a salute, "and I won't change my name back."

Auntie Minerva just gave him that smile she and everyone else had been wearing since he'd asked about the Sorting. They seemed to think he was going to want to go by Potter after or during the stupid Sorting; Harry wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

The girl he'd been talking to pounced upon him as soon as he'd returned to the group, saying, "What was all that about?"

"My inability to keep my mouth shut," Harry replied, "just in case you hadn't noticed."

"So, what House do you think you'll be in?" the girl asked brightly, tossing her thick hair over her shoulder, "I'm hoping for Gryffindor."

"Hope you like red," Harry replied blandly, "because you'll be seeing green for a few days while your eyes adjust to the horrible redness."

"You know about the Opponent Process theory?" she asked brightly, looking like she'd found her soul mate. Harry wondered just what he'd gotten himself into.

"Vaguely," he replied very, very slowly.

She still had that look on her face as she declared happily, "You know, I've never found another 11 year old in my life that knew about the Opponent Process Theory. I'm so happy I've finally found someone my own age that knows about these things!"

Harry choked and tried to think up something insulting to say that wasn't inappropriate, and settled for saying the first thing to pop into his head, "You mean you've been eleven your whole life?"

That caught her off-guard. Harry was caught up by the complete stupidity of what he'd said, then the girl began giggling and Harry ran away, quickly, vaguely aware of someone singing.

He managed to hide behind some kid he hadn't met. It was a little brown-haired boy who was just taller than Harry, and he eyed Harry curiously, but allowed him the sanctuary he wanted.

"…though I have none! For I'm a thinking cap!"

Harry scrunched his brow and demanded, "What the he—was that?"

"The Sorting Hat," the boy replied with a friendly smile, "Terry Boot, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, I'm su—my name's a surprise…"Harry replied somewhat sheepishly; being somewhat polite was hard… and made people like you. Then the boy's name was called and he grinned and waved goodbye to Harry and headed off.

Harry raised his brow and stood on his tiptoes to see what exactly was going on now. The boy was sitting on a stool with the Sorting Hat on his head… Harry could have sworn the hat was supposed to sing a song before the Sorting started.

"That was quite clever," the girl from before replied, "but why did you run off like that? I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Harry replied, deciding to use the response he'd given the Boot guy - he should probably consider changing his name, too, it wasn't like he made boots in his spare time…or did he? "My name's a surprise."

"Why is it a surprise?" the girl asked skeptically.

"Because I figure that if I make a negative introduction and then shock everyone off their — bottoms with my name, then I'll get a lot of people confused with how to act," Harry replied, "I imagine it will be quite fun."

"Sounds mean," Hermione replied, "and how have you made a negative introduction?"

"I opened my mouth," Harry replied, "I'm currently being polite under threat of detention, and it's not mean; it's funny."

"It's mean because you're playing on other people's feelings; you should know that's why a lot of potions and spells are illegal," she told Harry self-righteously.

"But that only tells one side of the story," Harry replied, "What about the people using the spells and potions; don't you think they have a right to manipulate other's emotions? I mean, isn't it all just a pursuit of internal well-being? Aren't they both right in a certain way?"

"This is all a matter of who's more wrong," Hermione replied, "and the people under such spells are the victims of wrong-doing, so clearly—"

"What about the so-called bad guys?" Harry demanded, "Where's their justice for past wrongs? It takes a villain to raise and/or make a villain."

The girl pulled herself up and began her rebuttal, "The nature-nurture debate is—"

"Granger, Hermione!"

Harry grinned and told the girl, "We'll finish this later."

The girl nodded firmly, looking ready for the challenge. "We will."

She moved up toward the Sorting Hat and Harry decided he might as well watch, so he followed her. She sat down on this horrid little three-legged stool, and Harry wondered if it was as structurally sound as a four legged stool… if it wasn't, Harry wondered if he should write a note to the school board, just to annoy people.

The girl began squirming as the Sorting Hat stayed on her forehead, biting her lip. Harry wondered just what was going on under that hat to warrant such a reaction, and the girl gasped in horror as the hat called out:

"RAVENCLAW!"

There was a bit of applause, but the girl interrupted it and pulled the hat off her head furiously and her eyes locked onto Harry and she yelled, "This is your fault!"

"I fail to see just how it's _my_ fault," Harry replied, "You were the one that was being Sorted."

"It said I was in Ravenclaw because of how I was thinking because of the conversation we were having!" She retorted, "This is completely your fault—"

"Again," Harry repeated, "I fail to see how it was my fault! Mens rea, bit — female! It was your state of mind, and I have no control over your thoughts — yet — so it's not my fault! It's your fault for thinking all smart-like, and getting me started on an intellectual argument."

Only silence met this and so Harry decided to smooth things over a bit more. "Besides," he continued pleasantly, "the Ravenclaw Common Room is done up in lovely shades of blue, which are much easier on the eyes and very relaxing, especially when compared to red."

The girl, Hormone, only narrowed her eyes and declared, "I hate you."

"So do a lot of people," Harry told her, "I hope you weren't trying to hurt my feelings."

The girl got up and stormed over to the Ravenclaw table in a flurry, plopping down, fuming, next to the Boot male Harry'd been talking to before.

Auntie Minerva looked at Harry curiously and he shrugged. She continued on with the Sorting.

* * *

Harry had never regretted his lack of foresight before.

But, right now, he was wondering just how he'd managed to live for so long without thinking about the consequences of said actions… but Harry now had _a lot_ of time to think about _everything_.

Like the fact that his last name, Wizard, happened to start with a 'w', which was the third letter from the end of the alphabet… which meant that in a list done in alphabetical order, Harry would be at the end.

Harry felt like crying, because he'd been waiting for like a bazillion hours to get Sorted… but he couldn't cry because he felt so rotten. Perhaps he could gather enough energy and try to go somewhere and kill himself… maybe he could throw himself off a balcony... there was one right outside of the Great Hall, actually.

"Hey, are you all right?" a brown-haired boy asked Harry, breaking him from his stupor of suicide contemplation.

"If there was a wall next to me," Harry replied slowly, "I would be banging my head against it right now."

The boy blinked and cleared his throat, mumbling, "All right, then… you know, there's a wall right over there."

"Can't move," Harry informed the other boy, "dying…"

"Don't listen to him," Ronald Weasley told the other boy, "He likes being dramatic."

"Not dramatic," Harry denied, his voice pained, "dying…"

"Weasley, Ronald!"

"If I'm not next," Harry whined, "I'm going to kill myself."

"Then it's a good thing you're probably next," the boy replied with a smile, "because my name's Blaise Zabini and we're the only two left."

Harry sighed in happiness, and practically fell on top of the other boy as he hugged him.

"I have never," Harry declared, "before, in my life, been so happy to learn another person's name."

The other boy laughed, and then Harry heard the sweetest two words in the English language.

"Wizard, Harry!"

"Thank God!" Harry yelled and he practically ran over to the stool, "If I had known coming to this godforsaken school with you cross-dressing weirdoes would have kept me waiting for _hours,_ I would have opted to get kidnapped, raped, and viciously murdered… Oh, wait! There's a dead, evil guy trying to kill me! And you," Harry turned an accusing finger to Auntie Minerva, "let me, in a fit of madness, change my name to Wizard. At least Potter was somewhere near being in the middle of the alphabet…"

Whispers and horrified exclamations broke out all over the Hall. A few people yelled that there was no way in Hell he could be Harry Potter. Harry paused his emo moment long enough to enjoy the shocked and horrified reaction of the on-lookers.

"I thought we agreed you were going to behave," Auntie Minerva told him sternly. "And it was you who wanted to change your name, I believe."

"I did try to behave, and someone had to give me permission to change my name," Harry replied, "And let me tell you something else, Aun—Professor! Guess what? I have an attention span of eight minutes! Seriously, I was _tested_ to see how long my attention span was — _eight minutes_! Not fifty zillion hours!"

Auntie Minerva rolled her eyes and dropped the hat onto Harry's head.

"Hello," a quiet voice said next to Harry's ear.

"Oh, great," Harry groaned, "now I'm hearing voices."

"It's a talking hat, Harry," Auntie Minerva replied.

"Oh, because that definitely makes me feel better!" Harry retorted. "That's certainly normal!"

"There's no need to worry," the hat told Harry, "I'm just going to take a look in your mind and find out which House you belong in."

"Oh, yes," Harry said rolling his eyes, "that doesn't sound bad at all; you're just going to be reading my mind."

"Hmm, I sense a great deal of self-preservation in you," the hat whispered into Harry's ear. "Certainly not becoming of a Gryffindor."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, "'Not becoming of a Gryffindor'; it's not like I'm in Gryffindor. And I bet you you're some kind of weird hat-like pedophile that gets off on 'looking in' eleven-year-old's minds."

"Harry, dear," Auntie Minerva told him, kneeling down next to him, "you don't have to talk to the hat out loud."

"Yes, I do," Harry replied. "I like having everyone know my business, especially when they don't want to know it, because that way I'm even more annoying."

"Certainly not a Gryffindor," the hat chuckled.

"Good, because if you thought I was, I might have to get a second opinion," Harry retorted.

"As for Hufflepuff, you are certainly loyal to those you open up to—"

"What?" Harry asked, "Are you psychoanalyzing me, now? I can guarantee you, you'll find no Freudian impulses because I'm eleven."

"You're certainly bright, but lazy," the hat continued. "Confident yet insecure, helpful, but only when you want to be — not when someone needs help or helping could impact you. Very curious, very curious indeed."

"Glad you think so," Harry commented, "I do hate being an easy puzzle to solve; no fun that way. I'm sure you have lots of fun reading poor, innocent children's minds… I imagine you get particular fun out of me, considering what a difficult puzzle I am, right?"

"Fishing for compliments?" the hat chuckled in Harry's ear.

"Now that's just disturbing," Harry declared, "Almost-flirting with an eleven year old… I ought to write to the School Board for that… and mention this vile three legged stool, I don't believe it's structurally sound … in fact, I find this whole Sorting archaic—"

"I believe that settles it," the hat declared.

"Oh my God!" Harry exclaimed, pulling the hat away from his eyes and staring up in absolute offense. He had thought meeting Voldemrot was the last time he would ever be so offended, but no, this, _this_ took the cake. "The damn hat interrupted me!" Harry stared up at Auntie Minerva. "Never in my life—"

"You are quite the little prima donna, aren't you?" the hat asked.

"It called me a prima donna!" Harry informed Auntie Minerva in absolute outrage, "It interrupted me _again_, and called me a prima donna!"

"I know which House you belong in," the hat sighed, "and once you know that, you never have to speak to me again…"

"I have half a mind," Harry yelled, "and if it weren't for the fact there's another kid that's been waiting to be Sorted longer than me, I would take you and I would burn you — you stupid, rotten, pedophile hat!"

"That's quite enough out of you, I think," the hat declared, "I think you belong in…"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Thanks for taking a few years off my hearing," Harry muttered snidely to the hat. "You have no idea just how much I appreciate that, really."

Harry pulled the hat off and held it out to Auntie Minerva, who gave him a bright smile and nodded him in the direction of the tables; it was only then that Harry noticed that the hall was deathly silent… Harry couldn't figure out what the problem was, but then it hit him… they didn't think Harry Potter was Ravenclaw material.

Harry decided to show them just where they could shove that theory.

Harry jumped up from the stool and slammed his palms to the side of his face, yelling, in what he hoped was a sarcastically horrified voice, "OH NOES! RAVENCLAW! OF ALL FOUR HOUSES! WHY?"

Harry dropped to his knees, throwing back his head and yelling, "Oh woe am I! Oh woe is my life!

Harry fell onto his side and screamed mournfully, "Oh woe art all in this room! OH WOE ART MINE LIVE!"

Then Harry sat up, calmly, and declared, "All of you can go screw yourselves - and your mothers - because it's not like you don't anyway… and anything's better than being blinded by redness in the Gryffindor House."

Then he stood up and marched off to the Ravenclaw table amongst loud applause from the Slytherins and glares from the Gryffindors. After Harry sat down next to that Hormone Granger female, the Ravenclaws gave him a little round of applause and a couple went so far as to welcome him. Harry figured this was the most attention they'd gotten in years.

"Harry Wizard has to be one of the most stupid names I've ever heard," the Granger girl told him as the Blaise boy's name was called.

"Thanks," Harry replied, "I really do try."

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat yelled, and the Blaise boy trotted off to the Slytherin table amidst great applause.


	10. Push It

Um…let's see, _timydamonkey betaed and is responsible for that bit about the Voldemrot bite…I just embellished a bit…and she also is responsible for half the MWPP insults and part of one, and then also for the Feorgered thing…that whole line about how it was a good, slightly scary noun…and I think that's it…_

_Much love to all my reviewers_ and I apologize for the short chapter, but it was getting tedious and I wanted them in the Ravenclaw common room.

**_Chapter Ten: Push It_**

"So," Harry said brightly to the Granger girl sitting next to him, "how exactly do you pronounce your name, Hormone?"

The Boot child next to Harry began coughing, and Harry decided to refrain from giving him a talking to in favor of smiling brightly at the glaring girl next to him.

"Bit of a trick to it, isn't there?" Harry asked. "Like Hormonal," and after her glaring began to worsen, Harry carefully added, "-y, Hormonally?"

"_Hermione_," the girl corrected, her glare as cold as ice, and Harry wondered exactly what price he would be paying, and whether or not it could concern his virtue… but Harry wondered if he had the lyrics right, and if it would be her who would be paying the price… nonetheless…

"Hermit-y?" Harry asked curiously, tilting his head.

"I think," the footwear male said from next to him, "that if you don't get it right soon, she might shove her fork down your throat."

"Because that will definitely be productive to my pronunciation," Harry replied. "It's a tricky name, and English is only my first language."

The girl's lips pursed and she began, "Listen _Horny—_"

Harry had to admit that was pretty good, and apparently this girl knew how to fight fire with fire or something to that effect - but Harry would never admit that, of course - but he did feel that now would be a good time to admit defeat. "All right, Hermione, you win!"

The ceasefire was immediate and they managed to just hear Dumbledore's speech about the third floor corridor.

"What!" Harry yelled loudly from his place at the Ravenclaw table, "The Forbidden Forest wasn't dangerous enough for you? You people just won't be happy until we're all dead, will you?"

"Harry!" Auntie Minerva chastised loudly.

"Statement of fact, Aun—Professor McGonagall!" Harry yelled back. "Far too many ways to die in this place for my comfort!"

"The school is not dangerous as long as you follow the rules, my boy," Dumbledore told him, and his twinkle exploded into a bright beacon so that it was visible all the way at Harry's end of the Ravenclaw table… Harry couldn't help but wonder if the twinkle was in danger of going into supernova.

"I only break stupid rules, for the second time tonight!" Harry called back, "And we've been over the 'my boy' thing!"

Harry received sharp looks from the entire staff and decided to stand down, at least for the moment, and Dumbledore continued with, "And finally, before we eat I have this to say: Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."

"Utterly mad," Harry muttered, "and I bet you anything that's a password to some hidden room or something… and just for continuity's sake, it would probably end up killing you; whatever's in the room."

Food appeared before them on the table and Harry couldn't help but notice the speed with which everyone reached for the mashed potatoes. They would be gone soon. This would have to be stopped, quickly.

"Mashed potatoes, huh?" Harry asked everyone, pursing his lips and nodding slowly. "You guys sure about that?"

"What do you mean you little pest?" the boyfriend of the girl that Harry had terrorized on the train demanded.

"It's just…" Harry said, shrugging, "House Elves make it."

"Well, what else would?" another boy demanded. "Honestly, someone has to keep this place in working order."

"I'm just saying," Harry said, shrugging, "House Elves are very… _excitable_… and, well, mashed potatoes are creamy and white."

Everyone around him blanched, except for his two fellow first years, Boot and Hormone, because they had no idea what he was talking about. Harry was just glad they'd ended up sitting around older students so things wouldn't have to be explained. Hands retreated from the massive bowl of mashed potatoes and the lucky ones who managed to get a big spoonful of the mashed goodness stared at their plate in horror.

"Yeah," Harry sighed mournfully, standing up, "I wouldn't chance it either."

Harry moved down a couple of people and picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and headed back to his seat, setting the bowl down on his golden plate.

"But on the bright side," Harry declared happily, as he grabbed a gravy bowl and began to cover the potatoes, "there's now more for me."

"You little brat!" the boyfriend yelled to Harry, shaking with anger. "You're absolutely horrible."

"Part of my charm," Harry assured him as he began to eat his mashed potatoes off the large, wooden serving spoon, then he realized that he was quite likely to ruin his shirt from stray potatoes and/or gravy and he rolled up his sleeve and continued blissfully eating.

The Boot boy began staring at Harry's wrist, which happened to sport a purple bruise from a beak mark from when Voldemrot had decided to engage him in a fight of dominance or something. Finally, the staring became too much for Harry to endure and he demanded, "Do you have an issue?"

"How did you get that?" The Boot boy asked curiously, studying the strange triangular shaped mark.

"Voldemrot did it," said Harry nonchalantly as he forcefully dunked the wooden spoon into the bowl of potatoes and pulled it back out with a massive hunk of gravy-covered potatoes. "Bit me... the bastard…"

"Wh—what? You mean..." a girl asked, her voice breathy and frightened, "_You-Know-Who_ did that? He... bit you?"

"You have clearly been watching more R-rated movies than I have," Harry told her, leveling his mashed potato laden spoon at her. "That's disgusting. Besides, I said Vold_emrot_ - do you have some sort of deficiency in your ears preventing you to properly hear the last syllables of a word or something?"

Then two pairs of identical faces and hair the same shade of bright red appeared before Harry.

"Fred, George," Harry greeted with a bright grin, "how's everything going?"

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a Ravenclaw, Harry," one of the twins replied.

"But it explains things," the other added, "It does."

"It certainly does, dear brother of mine," the other twin agreed, "It takes a true genius—"

"Tell us how you came up with it," the other twin demanded, leaning closer to Harry, "and how _we_ didn't!"

"Tell you what, exactly?" Harry asked, feeling more than a bit freaked out by this conversation.

"How you came up with the idea—"

"—of setting hundreds of Chocolate Frogs loose on the train!" the other twin finished excitedly. "Completely—"

"Brilliant!" Harry had decided this narration was getting a bit too confusing and that he should just take a guess at which twin was which, and decided this twin would be George…until proven Fred. "A prank which will never be seen again — in fact, I bet they won't ever sell chocolate frogs on the train anymore!"

"Clearly we have chosen a talented apprentice, dear twin."

"Clearly."

The two of them nodded their identical heads in solemn agreement.

In this moment, Hermione decided to bring up the prior conversation, "You named your owl Vold_emrot_!"

"Oh, now I'm getting lectured about what I named my horrid owl by complete strangers!" Harry exclaimed, "This is all highly inappropriate conversation for acquaintances, I simply couldn't speak any more on the topic!"

"You can't name him—"

"_Her_," Harry corrected firmly, waving his wooden spoon about. "She gets rather bitchy if you mistake her gender… and no, that's not why she bit me; in fact she was completely unprovoked."

"I'm sure," Hermione told him, in her haughty, 'I know so much more than you do' voice that she used on him before the Sorting.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, greatly offended, "I'll have you know the damn owl hates me, and I didn't do anything to her!"

"Besides name her after a dark wizard," the girl replied, "Wasn't it you who were advocating the influence of nurture over a person; 'it takes a villain to raise a villain' and all that mess?"

Clearly Harry's most insulting moments were only just beginning… like puberty.

He could not believe a girl he'd just met had the nerve to accuse him of being a villain and making his owl horrible… He'd only had the damn thing for a month or so and that was certainly not enough time to turn something over to the dark side. Not even Harry was that talented!

"We think it's brilliant," the Weasley twins reported brightly, "Then you could come up with all sorts of nicknames: You-Know-Who—"

"More like 'You-Know-What'," Harry muttered, "Damn bitchy owl…besides that, what is with the 'You-Know-Who' thing! I mean, come on, what is the man? The anonymous crush of doom?"

"Good point, dear apprentice," The one that Harry had decided to be Fred declared, "Right, Gred?"

"Right you are, Forge."

Harry decided his was becoming absolutely ridiculous; they weren't even calling themselves proper names anymore. Harry decided to just call them both Feorgered, which sounded like an intimidating and slightly scary verb… and that way there would be some way of identification in cases of emergency.

"Fred, George," one of the elder Weasleys called. It was the stuffy, spectacled one - Harry figured that that one probably handled the finances and other smart-like things in the Weasley hamlet. "You know you two aren't allowed at other tables!"

"We'd best get back before our dear, elder brother gets his prefect knickers in a twist," one member of Feorgered sighed, standing up.

The other member followed his example, but added, "We'll speak later, dear apprentice."

The two twins went back to their own table and began conversing with a group of kids in their year.

"Apprentice?" Hormone asked, her brow raised. Harry decided to ignore the fact that she'd taken a bit of his mashed potatoes from a place in the bowl he hadn't eaten from…

"They're like the greatest pranksters the school has ever seen or something," Harry replied, shrugging.

"Actually," one twin said, slithering up from under the Ravenclaw table, pushing in-between Boot and Harry. "That would be—"

"—Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," the other twin finished, budging up from under the table to in-between Hormone and Harry.

Harry stared between the two grinning faces, eyes wide, and demanded, "Where in _hell_ did you two come from?"

Their grins widened and became, to Harry's intuition, slightly dangerous. "You know what," Harry replied, shaking his head, "I don't even want to know."

"Worry not, apprentice of ours, for you will soon learn all of our tricks," one member of Feorgered declared.

"That—that's not very comforting," Harry told them, shaking his head, "It's really not."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are our heroes," the other affiliate of Feorgered declared. "They inspired us!"

"That's good," Harry replied. "Everybody needs a hero…but can we just talk about those names for a minute? I mean; they're horrible, what are they again?"

"Moony—"

"What's that all about?" Harry demanded, "Did he have a habit of pulling down his pants or something? I'm sure he's a really great guy... and what was the other one? Wormtail? What's that mean? Fishing bait?"

"—Padfoot and Prongs," the twins chorused, apparently not minding Harry making fun of their heroes.

"What's the Padfoot thing all about?" Harry continued as he resumed eating his mashed potatoes. "I mean, pad foot… like padded feet? Were his shoes too big or something? Or were they magically soft… did Padfoot have 'magical feet'?"

The two twins snickered.

"And Prongs is just weird," Harry muttered to himself, "Oh! They must have used them to pull him out of—" Harry coughed violently as he looked at his food. "Never mind," Harry declared, "I'm eating…"


	11. Untouchable

**Thanks to all my reviewers--you're uber awesome! And props to timydamonkey for betaing and for suggesting the poster strip to comply with magical cliches and destroy innnocence...or something...**

Also, I'm hoping that this chapter it might finally hit all of you that Harry is eleven and is still a child...it probably won't work, but I'm still trying...and...um...yeah...

_**Chapter Eleven: Untouchable**_

"All right, everyone," a boy yelled after they were all dismissed from the feast, "Firsties mainly, follow me if you want to sleep in a bed tonight!"

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "Sleep in a bed? Who would want to do that?"

"Isn't this exciting?" the Hormone girl whispered; apparently now she was getting over the fact she wasn't going to be in Gryffindor. Harry found her a bit annoying when she was in a good mood; it made her haughty and it reminded him of Dudley… "We get to see our House Common Room for the first time!"

"I've seen all four of them," Harry replied, "and they all suck in their own way, and are good in their own way…"

"What's bad about Ravenclaw?" the footwear child asked, tilting his head curiously as they walked along in the crowd of Ravenclaws.

"The chairs suck ass," Harry replied, shrugging. "They're the most uncomfortable in the school… but the carpet's pretty cozy so I suppose that's where everyone sits."

"Since you're the expert," the footwear child said to Harry challengingly, "which house has the most comfortable chairs?"

"Gryffindor, definitely," Harry replied brightly, grinning. "They're these beat up marshmallow things."

"Why don't all the Houses have the same furniture?" Hormone asked curiously, furrowing her brow.

"All four houses are not created equal," Harry replied. "Gryffindors have big heads so they need a comfy place to rest them — takes the pressure off their neck, Ravenclaws are too smart for their own good so they have uncomfortable chairs to keep them focused on the matter at hand and value that over their own comfort, and I think Hufflepuffs are like bumblebees or something, I have no idea what the black and yellow thing is supposed to be." Harry shook his head firmly. "And Slytherins, I think, are trying to go for the demon look with their horrid wingback chairs, you know, compensating for the lack of actual bat wings…"

"I'm sure that's it," Boot replied, nodding. Boot was clearly one of those people that could be sarcastic and you couldn't tell whether they were being sarcastic or not… Harry liked that in a clingy stranger… made them a bit more bearable.

"That's exactly what it is!" Harry replied brightly, "Honestly, could you imagine a Ravenclaw as concerned with their own comfort as their studies? It would be Dark Lord Central!"

Silence reigned for a few moments as Harry's fellow eleven year olds stared at him, waiting for some sort of elaboration.

"Actually, that sounds like a bit of a brilliant idea," Harry declared. "In fact, it is a brilliant idea because of all it entails."

"What are you talking about?" Hermit-y demanded, her eyes rolling… and Harry wondered if he should make a comment or not.

"We should so steal the chairs from the Gryffindor Common Room and turn them a proper, non-red color!" Harry yelled, "And then we can be smart people concerned with our own comfort and together we can rule the world as smart…" Harry blinked and tried to think up a word, "…comfortable... people."

"Sounds brilliant," the boot fellow replied somewhat mockingly, but completely sarcastically, "I knew that being comfortable would lead to being evil, but I wasn't sure I could find anyone to join up with me in my evil plot to steal chairs from the Gryffindor Common Room."

"Excellent!" Harry exclaimed, _knowing_ that having your sarcasm taken as your word was not a very pleasant experience because you were normally drawn into something you'd rather not be dragged into. "What about you, Hermione? Are you going to help us in our nefarious plot?"

"Certainly not!" she replied, swiftly and vengefully.

"Brilliant!" Harry declared, "We'll attempt it this weekend then!"

"Attempt what, exactly?" a girl Harry had hoped to never see again asked; she'd managed to change out of her new silk robes, but her face and hair was still splattered with dots colored like sprinkles.

"That's a very good question, actually!" Harry replied brightly, "But I couldn't possibly bring myself to tell you unless I had your absolute concurrence to join me in said endeavor."

"Not on your life, you little bother," the girl replied, huffing and turning away, the Prefect badge on her school robes glinting. Her annoyance and angry stance was slightly put-off by the fact she was covered in the little dots.

"Smarter than she looks," Harry commented as soon as she was out of ear-shot, "Pity her boyfriend isn't…"

That earned Harry amused and startled glances from Hermit-y and Boot.

"I wouldn't think you would be the best judge of a person's intelligence," Hermione told him, tossing her horrid fluffy mane of hair away from her face.

"Goes to show what you know," Harry replied with a smirk, "I happen to be an excellent judge of intelligence. I can guess your IQ with a single glance."

"Really?" Hermione asked blandly, "What's my IQ, then?"

"There's no true way to measure one's intelligence," Harry replied with a wicked smirk, "which only goes to show that you really don't know very much, especially since you fell for my 'I can guess your IQ' ploy."

"You're horrible," Hermione told him, glaring darkly.

"You're going to have to do better than that if you want to hurt my feelings," Harry told her, and then he brushed past her.

Behind him she huffed loudly, stamping her foot and accused, "You're an insecure egomaniac that feels the need to hide behind bad sarcasm in order to drive others away while you attempt to impress them into liking you! You're completely apprehensive in all social situations and to hide that you make a spectacle of yourself!"

Harry stopped and turned to look at her, gaping, and very much offended by her accurate accusations — not that she ever needed to know that, damn girls and their stupid empathetic powers of doom.

She smirked at Harry, waiting for his reaction while he just stared at her in absolute shock. Then the footwear child broke the silence with a quiet cough.

"I agree with her," he mumbled, his voice just in Harry's hearing range.

Clearly, Harry was not going to go long without being greatly insulted whilst in the walls of Hogwarts.

* * *

"Welcome, first years, to the West Tower of Hogwarts," the Prefect girl said brightly and loudly, standing next to her boyfriend. "This is where the Ravenclaw Common Rooms and dormitories are located, and this will be your home while you reside in Hogwarts."

Harry couldn't help but notice the eerie silence that had fallen over his housemates… because it certainly was eerie, but also completely miraculous, managing to get a group of teens and pre-teens quiet for more than a few minutes.

"Now, we Ravenclaws generally keep to ourselves," her boyfriend picked up, "and with good reason. Over the next year all of you students will be vying for a place in the Cult of Ravenclaw."

"Dear god," Harry exclaimed softly, burying his face in his hands, "my life is a made-for-TV drama…all it needs is bad horror music and it'll be official."

The clingy Boot kid began humming an ominous tune, and Harry slowly turned his head, glaring murderously at him.

Boot smiled innocently and shrugged.

"The Cult of Ravenclaw was created by our very own House founder Rowena Ravenclaw—"

"You're kidding!" Harry gasped quietly, "Someone created their own Cult and named it after themselves? There's no effing way!"

"You're completely ruining the gravity of this situation," Hormonally hissed to him, and hormones actually might have been involved in the rather hostile response he received… or at least that's what some older boys said about angry girls; Harry wasn't sure he really wanted to know much about he inner workings of girls… far too many cooties involved in the process.

"Good," Harry replied, after he remembered what the prior conversation had been about, heaven forbid he be without a clever retort because he was thinking. "I was never overly fond of that particular theory anyway… gravity makes me uncomfortable, and the fact it is a theory may or may not have something to do with it."

Harry rolled his eyes down to look at his feet and then asked softly, "So if it isn't gravity keeping us down, what do you think it is? I rather like to think the earth has tentacles that hold us down by the bottom of our feet…or skin…depending on your position, but the tentacles let go as soon as we move."

"Gravity's a theory?" the Boot boy asked, and Harry realized that name sounded a bit like he was a street vendor selling boots that didn't match.

"Oh yes," Harry replied brightly, "It's only a number of suggested options."

"At least the theory makes more sense than your tentacle idea," Hermione scoffed. "It's completely preposterous and implausible."

"Guess what," Harry said softly, leaning over to Hermione, smirking. "So's _magic_."

Patting himself on the back for an extremely clever win in this argument, Harry returned his attention to the fantastic Prefect couple. Luckily Harry hadn't missed anything; they were still prattling on about nonsense.

"…the higher you manage to rank yourself in the Cult of Ravenclaw, the better chance you have in life," the girl Prefect lectured. "The Cult of Ravenclaw can help you in every aspect of your life—"

"Dude, I once saw a Viagra commercial like this," Harry commented dryly to his peers, but they clearly didn't get it.

"What did you say, scourge?" a nearby Asian girl demanded, and Harry supposed that if he had working sex organs and the girl, who was a year older than him or something, had working sex organs also then they might could hook up... but as it were, the cooties were calling for Harry's blood.

He fought the urge to do something incredibly immature and replied, loudly, "Dude, I wish my life had always been like this! I _so_ want to be the best Cult member _ever_!"

"Could you sound any less sincere?" Hermione demanded.

"Probably," Harry replied brightly.

"Anyway!" the female Prefect huffed, tossing her hair over her should haughtily, "Being a member in good standing of the Cult of Ravenclaw will help you in immeasurable ways, but the important thing for all of you first years to remember is that the Cult of Ravenclaw is not to be made known to anyone outside of our House or the Cult… and it is extremely advisable to all of you to socialize as little as possible with the other houses so as to not give any of our secrets away."

"Because, let me tell you," Harry muttered, "I know so many secrets right now…"

"And here I thought you knew everything," Boot teased.

"Not to imply I don't," Harry replied.

"Now, everyone listen closely," the male Prefect called, "the current password is 'Aconite'!"

A relief of four or five women, in an arch on the wall behind the two prefects, suddenly leapt to life and swept away, and as the women moved the rest of the brick and rock drew back leaving a perfectly open arch.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw Common Room," the female Prefect said with a smile and she and her boyfriend/fellow Prefect swept into the passageway.

* * *

"And this'll be your dormitory," the Prefect said as he threw open the door, and then he choked as he noticed a moving poster of a voluptuous woman stripping down to her skivvies plastered on one of the walls. This discovery only led to him noticing the lacy women's panties littering the floor.

The Prefect rubbed his face in exasperation and sighed, "I'm sorry, last years seventh years were a bit… I'll be back in a second with Flitwick because knowing them they charmed everything in place…"

He hurried away muttering about immature seventh years, then as a second thought he turned around and closed the door to the dormitory in order to protect whatever was left of the first years' innocence.

"So, we're going to be sleeping together for the next seven years!" Harry said brightly after the silence became almost oppressive, "I might as well learn your names."

"Stephen Cornfoot."

"Michael Corner."

"Funny you two should have the same prefix in your last names," Harry commented. "Does that mean you share the same genes?"

This drew snorts from the unoffended boys, a glare from Michael Corner, and a confused look from Stephen Cornfoot.

Harry turned to the last anonymous boy and asked, "Well, what's your name?"

"Anthony Goldstein," the boy replied, waiting for some sort of comment from Harry, but Boot cut in and introduced himself because apparently everyone else needed to know that he had a pointless last name.

"Ah, hello boys!" Flitwick squeaked, as he appeared in the hallway that the boy's dormitories were placed on. "Sorry, I was just dealing with a situation in the girl's dormitory."

"Nothing like what's in our dorms, I hope," Harry muttered, and Flitwick squeaked an agreement as he saw the state of the boy's dorm.

"Oh, goodness, no!" Flitwick exclaimed, and quickly banished the poster of the now naked woman, then he stared at the panties littering the dorm floor. "These boys are lucky they graduated or they'd be facing weeks of detention! And where on Earth did they get all of this underwear?"

"Well," the Prefect replied off-handedly, toeing a scanty red lace number, "these are definitely Melinda's."

Flitwick turned to stare at the Prefect, who froze in place and slowly turned a bright red, reminiscent of the panties or, indeed, a Weasley's hair. The first year boys began snickering from their place in the door.

"And here I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart," Harry declared, a wicked grin plastered on his face. "But so much for that theory…"


	12. Special

Well, let's see, thanks to all my loverly reviewers and the fantastic timydamonkey (my beta). Timydamonkey also contributed a line here and she pointed it out to me but I can't--oh yes! the one about the sex ed and taking it into account, yes. That one.

Also I'm quoting a great song from the Arrogant Worms called "I Ran Away" or something simalarly pertinent to the song, I'm sure...it's the mediocre soccer player and peanut butter lines Harry throws at his dormmates. This is also the reason I say soccer rather than football, so if ya'll get on to me about it, I will point and laugh because you don't read author notes. Also I use ya'll in the story because I'm southern and I very well can...

I apologize for the short chapter though, I've been at college and have been too busy to do much else and in fact most of this chapter was written before I went to college...and I would just like to add that I have never wasted so much time doing nothing, away from a computer, in my life...so college is good for something at least.

And...funny thing is, Harry's complaining about his mattress, and we all use mattress covers in our dorms for the same reason Harry wants a new one...but enjoy the chapter and I'll see if I can gather the time and inspiration to throw together another chapter soon...

_Chapter Twelve: Special_

"So last years Seventh Years did all that?" Harry demanded as he and the other First Years made their way into the dorm.

"Yes, the Seventh Years had this dorm last year," Flitwick replied. "They were an awfully rambunctious lot at the end of last school year, I should honestly not be surprised."

"So the Seventh Years slept on these beds," Harry asked, kicking the one he was closest to.

"Yes," Flitwick replied, somewhat proudly, "and a thousand years of students before them."

Harry gagged and asked, "Really?"

"Yes, indeed," Flitwick replied, now completely proud, "Hogwarts is a school full of history—"

"And hormonally charged teenagers," Harry interrupted. "I demand new sheets and a new mattress. No way I'm sleeping where hundreds of thousands of people have had sex and done other things."

"I never…thought of that," the Prefect boy muttered, looking horrified.

"Yet more proof to imply you certainly don't belong in a house that values intelligence," Harry declared. "I mean, honestly, anyone that sleeps with a girl that allows her underwear to be pasted to a dorm room floor can't be very intelligent."

The Prefect rolled his eyes and replied, "Oh, I know all about safe sex and no drugs and all that — like all the other Ravenclaws. We take into account," the boy said off-handedly, "and then ignore it all."

"Mr. Stretton," Flitwick squeaked disapprovingly, "clearly you and I, as well as the rest of you housemates, need to have a very serious talk."

Perfect Prefect Stretton flushed brightly, and suddenly Harry snickered, muttering, "Oh, yes, I'm so sorry for insulting your obviously great intelligence…"

"If I could get away with it, I'd kill you," the Prefect hissed to Harry when Flitwick returned to clearing the panties from the floor.

"It probably wouldn't work anyway," Harry told him. "It's all part of my mad staying-alive skills and all."

Flitwick banished the last piece of skimpy underwear - a multi-colored thing that looked more like a bit of string than it did underwear - and he bid the boys goodnight with a cheerful squeak.

"Wait a minute!" Harry exclaimed. "What about my bed? I'm not sleeping where a seventeen year old boy masturbated!"

"I think you're making too much of a fuss out of th—"

"I swear to God, if I don't get a new mattress, I'm going to go down to the kitchen and performing ritual sacrifices on your brethren," Harry threatened Flitwick. "Do you like having alive brethren cooking your food?"

Flitwick closed his eyes, sighing deeply, and Harry decided he was probably counting to ten.

Harry found ten to be an inadequate number when he was involved.

"Mr. P—Wizard, go to sleep," Flitwick squeaked out to Harry about twenty seconds later. See, ten simply wasn't a large enough number.

"I can't sleep on a mattress where you could have had sex with one of your female brethren," Harry exclaimed. "That's so gross! The sex part," Harry added quickly, "not your brethren."

"The mattresses are replaced every ten years." Flitwick replied.

"How much you want to bet there's another six years before that happens?" Harry muttered, "I'm sorry, but I absolutely refuse to lie on that mattress. Someone needs to get me a new one."

"We don't make allowances for students, Mr. Wizard, no matter how famous or petulant they are." Flitwick sighed, more than a bit exasperated.

Harry decided to take that as a challenge and declared, "That's what you think."

/line here/

Maybe going to Auntie Minerva hadn't been the best idea, in retrospect, but at least something was being done here. Even if it was just Ruebella staring at him in that damn child psychologist way…

"Is it the dirt and germs that bother you, or the fact that you are unable to have a mattress of your own?" Ruebella asked, sounding far too interested and thoughtful to be sincere… it was frankly a bit annoying and made Harry squirm in the seat he'd been forced into for this damn impromptu therapy session.

"Honestly," Harry asked, "would you want to sleep somewhere there were people besides you possibly doing the nasty? No, you wouldn't, because that's kinda gross. And I don't know why you think I want the mattress, I mean, it's not like I've had anything of my own before—"

Ruebella pounced onto that admission and Harry cursed himself for unwittingly tossing unprotected, vulnerable information into the snake pit …or lion den… whatever house Ruebella was in.

…The badger hole, Harry snorted at that thought.

"Do you think that this is your desire to finally have something of your own?" Ruebella suggested. "Perhaps to help you create your own identity…"

Harry wasn't quite sure where this was going.

"I think it's a good idea for you to get a new mattress," Ruebella declared without receiving an answer. "I'll speak to Aunt Minnie."

"What about bedding?" Harry demanded, jumping up as Ruebella stood up. "Those have had the nasty done on them too!"

"But they're cleaned almost daily," Ruebella replied, uncaring.

"By the House Elves!" Harry yelled, "And we all know how they get while cleaning!"

"Aren't you the one that swears up and down Flitwick is half house-elf?" Ruebella asked Harry with a pointed look, "Because if what you're insinuating is true, that means Flitwick goes at it while teaching."

And in that moment, Harry, wide-eyed and traumatized, was in dire need of some brain bleach.

/line here/

"'Don't favor' my ass!" Harry scoffed as he plopped down on his brand new mattress; he smirked widely at his shocked peers. "It's a good thing I have 'identity problems' or this whole getting everything I want thing be a _little_ harder."

"How did you get them to give you that?" The boy said - Harry couldn't be arsed to remember his name really, it was Golden Sheen or something, which really sucked, but empathy sort of required, you know, compassion.

"Ten years of abuse and neglect, my dear Golden Sheen," Harry replied haughtily, "and just so you know, your name sounds sort of dirty, you might want to ask your parents about the night of your conception."

"What?" Golden Sheen demanded, and Harry frankly wasn't sure what the 'what' was for, but the nitwit probably didn't know what conception was or something.

"You're confusing me," Harry told the Sheen, and then he realized that while the boy was sleeping, there would be a golden sheen on his bed. Harry fought down the urge to burst into laughter.

"_I'm_ confusing?" Golden Sheen demanded, "You're the one that bust in here going on about God knows what and then start talking about a golden sheen—"

"Well, at least I'm not sleeping on a bed where someone did the nasty," Harry declared, smiling at Golden Sheen.

"You're gross to even be thinking about that," another boy replied.

"You want to know what's really gross?" Harry asked. "The nasty…and someone else doing the nasty where you're sleeping — that's what's really gross. And guess what, that happened on your mattresses, so you're gross by association, and you know what else, Golden Sheen and Co.? Ya'll are all mediocre soccer players!"

Silence.

"Yeah, I said it," Harry told them smugly, "and you know what else, you smell like peanut butter."

"I will have you know," one of the boys declared to Harry, "that I am a good soccer player."

"And I'm sure your mum will encourage that belief," Harry told the boy, more than a bit condescendingly.


	13. The World is Not Enough

Okay, much love to the reviwers though** I must compliment some of you on your ability...or rather inability to read author's notes, one last chapter was a bit important**. Also much love for Chloe who came up with Acme feathers, and I don't own Acme, just in case, um she also came up with the descendant of merlin idea though I tweaked it a lot, and um she also inspired Harry's "name"

Um..this also runs through must of Harry's classes...except astronomy, just a look at how the first day of each went...and I'm rather proud of many of these lines...mainly the satan ones they rock...hard...

**_Chapter Thirteen: The World is Not Enough_**

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Professor Snape," Harry exclaimed as he posed dramatically in the doorway of the Potions classroom. "I got lost."

"You were down here almost every day of summer, boy," Snape told him caustically, "I can't believe you don't know you—"

"Yes, but I was dragged, kicking and screaming and with my eyes closed, down to your lovely den, oh scary Snape-beast of Hogwarts," Harry replied. "So I actually had no idea how to get here, although I could have been on time if I hadn't skipped out on the little 'Cult of Ravenclaw Tour.'"

"Thirty points from Ravenclaw for your behavior," Snape replied, his eyebrows raised from the Cult of Ravenclaw comment.

"Oh, yes," Harry replied, rolling his eyes, "because punishing others for my conduct will definitely change my behavior. The nasty little guilt trip ya'll are going for here might work on some of my dear comrades, but you should know better than to think it would on me. So, thirty points to Harry for showing all of you just where you can shove that philosophy."

Harry pranced into the room and plopped down in the empty seat next to Boot, the idiot sat in the first row. Which only goes to prove the point that Ravenclaws clearly aren't of the superior intelligence that one is led to believe.

Snape continued to glare at Harry with gale force stare-age, and Harry decided he must have lost his place in the script of the story and figured he should probably help the man out.

"I believe you were yelling at the class because they're all first years and you've nothing better to do," Harry informed the man. "Or you were explaining that you're going to systematically molest each and every one of us in alphabetical order, which honestly wouldn't surprise me, except for the fact that you strike me as number fellow, and you would want to do it by birthdays."

"Go into my office, now, boy!" Snape fairly growled in anger, towering himself up so that it almost appeared that his head was touching the ceiling…oh, wait, it was_, Snape was standing on a chair_!

…kidding.

"Well, there goes both of those theories," Harry retorted, standing up, "and you might want to take off some more points to punish my classmates because I'm not prepared for class… at all."

Harry was very familiar with Snape's office because he'd been sent there many times over the summer whenever Snape simply couldn't stand to have him around anymore, which was often, because as the youngest member of the faculty he was automatically appointed baby-sitting duties. Once Harry reached Snape's office, he plopped down into Snape's foreboding, yet comfortable leather chair, and waited for his punishment to be allotted to him.

It wasn't long a wait; Snape quickly fished the book of horrors from his bookcase and tossed it onto his desk.

"You're to read chapters 7 through 12," Snape told Harry, and he promptly left the office, slamming the door behind him.

Harry turned his gaze down to the gleaming title of the book before him.

_Hogwarts, a History_.

Damn!

* * *

"I'm sorry, Professor Auntie Minerva McGonagall," Harry declared, "but I can't answer that, because my brain has exploded from reading _Hogwarts, a History_."

"I asked you why you were sitting in the back of the classroom, Harry," McGonagall replied.

"I'm sorry, I can't answer that," Harry repeated. "Because my brain has exploded from reading _Hogwarts, a Histo_ry."

"And why were you reading _Hogwarts, a History_?" Auntie Minerva asked curiously, "I thought you were in Potions last class."

"I can't answer that because of the brain explosion," Harry replied.

"I think he was being punished," the Hormone girl informed Auntie Minerva. "He was sent into Professor Snape's office after making some inappropriate comments, though I can't understand why that would be a good punishment…"

"Oh my god, you're a freak!" Harry yelled to her. "That is like the fucking worst read ever!"

"Harry!" Auntie Minerva chastised, "This is your warning; next time you curse or talk out of turn, I will silence you."

"Oh, so now you're taking away my ability to speak, I have to admit that not even my relatives went so far as to take away my ability to talk," Harry declared. "You are some hardcore evil, Auntie Minerva, not even I would have thought up that."

Harry probably would have said more, but unfortunately his voice didn't seem to be cooperating with him.

* * *

It was only halfway through Charms class that Flitwick ceased his happy squeaking and noticed that Harry appeared to clawing at his head, which he had firmly placed on the desk before him.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Wizard?" Flitwick asked excitedly.

Harry shook his head, without bothering to raise it, and waved for Flitwick to continue with the class.

"Are you sure you're not ill?"

"Sir," Hormonally informed helpfully, "he can't talk because he cursed in Professor McGonagall's class and she silenced him, it was all rather exciting—"

"Oh dear!" Flitwick squeaked and he promptly corrected the silencing spell.

Harry lifted his head off the desk and turned to Hermione, growling, "Remind me to never do anything in front of you, lest you tattle on me in an attempt to get more magic done before you—"

"What a brilliant idea!" Flitwick squealed, and he clapped his hands excitedly.

Harry blanched and covered his face with his hands, muttering to himself that Flitwick was not half House Elf…

"Practicing some magic would certainly be fun!" Flitwick declared. "I'll pass out some feathers and we can get a head-start on the levitation spell!"

Harry raised his hand and asked, "Can't we use heavier objects? I kind of want to kill someone, and feathers don't really cut it… unless they're _Acme_ feathers, then I could work with them."

* * *

"I'm going to be your friend," Hormone declared as she plopped down next to Harry at lunch. She pulled out a book that looked suspiciously like _Hogwarts, a History_ and promptly began reading.

Harry stared at her in absolute horror, his jaw quivering in confusion and he blurted out, "…What?_ Why?_"

"Because it will annoy the hell out of you," Hermione replied primly. "Now, if we're going to be friends, you have to call me Hermione, or I'll call you Horny or various other offensive names."

Harry continued staring at her, his jaw hanging open. She turned her attention to her homework.

"And if we're going to be friends, I also insist you shut your mouth, it's quite unbecoming," she added, not looking up from her book.

Harry closed his mouth with a click but continued staring at her.

'"And you might want to eat something," she added. "You're far too scrawny, and we're going to be leaving lunch early so that we can find the library before we receive our first assignment."

Harry gathered his bearings a little bit and demanded, "What the fuck—"

"And if we're going to be friends, you're going to have to stop cursing, I don't like foul language," Hermione told Harry, and she took a bite of her food and added, "You should try the sausage; it's rather good."

* * *

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Harry asked as he stared down at the small pot of dirt before him.

Professor Sprout spared Harry a glance before she continued to pass out the pots to the rest of the students.

"Now, this will be an on-going project during this year, you're each going to plant your own mint plant and raise it—"

"So you're not only calling us dirt, but you're also saying we smell bad?" Harry demanded. "I don't appreciate that, and I hate to tell you this, but mint goes against my religion, so I can't do it, lest God hate me."

"I thought the Muggle God was merciful," Sprout replied, sounding very much like this was all she knew about Muggle religions, and was sure it was right.

"Yeah, well, there are more than one and I don't worship that one, I worship the other one," Harry replied.

"Satan?" one kid, Mini Corker (Michael Corner) or something, muttered.

"There you go!" Harry replied, "Satan will eat me if I plant mint."

A few kids snorted at this and then Boot raised his hand and confided, "Planting mint also goes against my religion; Satan is rather frightening when he threatens to eat you."

Then two of the Ravenclaw girls who Harry was quite pleased at having not met and Golden Sheen began also declaring that mint went against their religion as well, and simply couldn't take part in the activity.

"Don't listen to them," Hermione told Professor Sprout. "They're lying—"

"How do you know?" Harry asked with a grin. "That's the wonderful thing about theology, can't disprove anything."

"You can't prove it either," Hermione replied haughtily.

"Shame, shame," Harry chastised her. "Now what does your preacher say about that?"

"They are lying," Mini Corker added. "They're just trying to get out of work."

"In order to save our poor, miserable souls!" Harry exclaimed, and then he turned upon Hermione and declared, "And as my friend, you should understand my desire to keep from getting eaten by Satan!"

* * *

Hermione stabbed Harry with the nib of her quill, and he startled awake.

"Class is over," she told Harry, her voice somewhat disgusted, and she began packing her things up neatly.

"Class?" Harry demanded with a forceful yawn. "More like nap time. Damn, that was boring, what class _was_ that anyway?"

"History of Magic and it was rather interesting," Hermione told Harry pointedly.

"I agree," Harry replied. "I don't believe I've ever had such interesting dreams in my life."

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked out of the classroom. Harry followed and they made their way to their next class, whatever that was.

They were on the fourth floor when they hit the crowd of kids that had gathered.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked some Gryffindor boy.

"A fight," he replied excitedly, craning his neck for a better view, and Harry rolled his eyes and declared, "I'll handle this; I was always the best at breaking up fights in primary school."

"How is that?" Hermione demanded, looking like she didn't believe that for a second.

"Because," Harry replied with a smirk, "I give them some common ground."

Harry shoved his way through the crowd and rolled his eyes when he saw who was fighting.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Harry yelled as he calmly walked up to Draco and Ron, throwing his arms out to separate them. "No fighting! Come on, boys, we're all related here! Let's calm down and think about this." Harry looked between them and the harsh glaring and continued, "Hitting a kid at school is like kicking your mum—because let's face it," Harry said, shrugging, "you never know."

"And here I was," Auntie Minerva interrupted loudly, "about to applaud you on your behavior."

"What?" Harry demanded, "I didn't do anything!"

* * *

Harry slouched down in his seat and continued to stare at the stuttering man who was apparently supposed to teach something… Harry found that premise to be highly comical.

"I-I am-m-m Pro," he paused to clear his throat, "Profes-ss-s-fess-or-or K-S-Qu-S-K-Quirrel."

"Wow," Harry muttered, not believing anyone would have such a sucky last name. "That really sucks, in fact, that last name sucks so hard I can't even make fun of it."

Hermione turned to glare at him.

"That was sincere," Harry informed her dryly. "I mean, what kind of last name is that? God must hate his family."

The teacher began to stutter his way through the roll, and Harry decided that despite the fact the man had a sucky last name and a speech impediment; he had to find some way to get the good professor back for taking so long to get through a list of students. He then decided the best way to do that would be to give himself a really, really long name and make the man suffer through pronouncing it and remembering it correctly…

"Har-arry Wi-wiz-ard."

"No," Harry proclaimed, "I demand to be called by my full name!" He stood up on his chair and continued, "I am Harry 'the fantastic and majestic warrior of the northern highlands surrounding the fantastic structure normally known as the school of Hogwarts...descendant of Merlin, and leader and savior of the idiots that somehow managed to gain control of my life' Wizard...the ninth!"

_Absolute_ silence.

"_The hell_…?" Golden Sheen muttered loudly, breaking the beautiful silence that Harry had created and reveled in for the moment it was alive.

"Who was the eighth?" Boot asked, his eyebrows raised, but he was grinning at Harry's antics.

Harry gave him an odd look, as if it was perfectly obvious. "I'm just so great that I count for all incarnations. I've had nine lives so far. Who wants me to try for ten? I bet Hermione does, for as my self-proclaimed friend, which should honestly tell all of us something about her mental state, she wants me to succeed! Right, Hermione 'the friend of "Harry 'the fantastic and majestic warrior of the northern highlands surrounding the extraordinary structure normally known as the school of Hogwarts...descendant of Merlin, and leader and savior of the idiots that somehow managed to gain control of my life' Wizard...the ninth" Gramper… or whatever your last name was."

She glared, and Harry smiled broadly back at her.

"Just out of curiosity," Hermione demanded, "how do you know you're a descendant of Merlin?"

"Please," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "with all this interbreeding, who really knows? For all we know, I could be one of the four founders' cousins."

Harry nodded to all his classmates, and then a thought hit him. "Which is why…"

He smirked and looked around, very pleased, at his classmates. "I should have my own cult!"


	14. Shut Your Mouth

Okay, big thanks to all my fantastic and loveable reviewers for being relatively patient with me and my lack of time to do anything but study...and post a teaser and a new story.../blushes/ anyway, this chapter gave me a few problems when it was still just an idea, but luckily a little, extreme use of the delete button fixed everything and you have this marvel of...something...

Another thanks and many props go to Chloe for listening to me complain and brag about several lines in the chapter and then beta...with only a little kicking and screaming...

Also, I mean no offense to Fundamental Southern Baptists, I grew up with tons of them and I love them all and most of them are not in the least irrational...I'm just playing on a stereotype, which is wrong, I understand and I duly apologize...

_**Chapter Fourteen: Shut Your Mouth**_

"This whole thing has to be a farce of titanic proportions," Harry declared as he stared around him. The whole Titanic reference completely went over a lot of the people's heads, and Harry couldn't help but wonder just how much he could get away with when it came down to Muggle culture.

It would definitely be worth exploring.

Hormone rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time today. Apparently she'd heard more than enough complaints from Harry about the broomstick lesson.

"Where were you this morning, anyway?" she demanded, attempting to change the subject. "You missed Potions, it was a—"

"I would have missed Potions if I had showed up," Harry replied. "Snape would have kicked me out in under fifteen minutes, tops. But, come on, do you have any idea about how sexually repressed this is? _Riding_ _broomsticks_, honestly!"

Hermione appeared to be fed up. "Will you shut—"

"You know, Hormone," Harry said very seriously, "real friends don't let friends straddle phallic symbols."

Hermione glared at him and told him, "You're absolutely awful!"

"Thank you," Harry said with a smirk. "I really do try."

Silence reigned for a few more seconds, and then Harry couldn't stand not being the center of attention, and had to overthrow the new monarch.

"Speaking of riding broomsticks, the whole game of Quidditch is sexually repressed!" Harry declared. "Throwing balls into big hoops, riding broomsticks, hitting balls with sticks, keeping balls out of the hoops — I like how there's only two people fighting for virginity out there…"

Hermione didn't deign a response.

"The Keepers are my heroes, personally," Harry replied, "I have to respect that they don't want people throwing balls into their hoops."

Then Madam Hooch appeared and she briskly told them to find a broomstick to stand beside, and all of the students scrambled to follow her instruction, except for Harry.

"Wearing a dress just isn't enough for you people, is it?" Harry demanded. "You also have to rape my mind with the strange innuendo of your repressed society."

Hooch was momentarily taken aback by this comment, and then barked at him to go and stand next to a broomstick. This time Harry listened, and he skulked over to stand next to Hermione, where an empty place had been left between her and Boot. Clearly the two first year Ravenclaws would never leave Harry be.

"Now, you're going to hold your hand over your broomstick, and—"

"So, why are we doing this again?" Harry demanded as he stared down, dubiously, at the broomstick on the ground next to him.

"Riding a broomstick is a very important skill—"

"Phallic symbols are against my religion, no matter how _useful_ they are," Harry declared haughtily.

Hooch leveled Harry with a glare and replied, "Unless you're a Fundamental Southern Baptist, I don't want to hear it."

Harry cleared his throat and shuffled his feet before asking, "How do you know I'm not?"

"I have on good authority from Professor Sprout that you're a Satanist or something of the like, and that makes you unable to plant mint for whatever reason," Hooch replied. "So if you admit to being Baptist, that would mean that you lied to Professor Sprout… and I don't think you would want to face the consequences of that."

Harry pursed his lips and glared at Hooch saying, "Carry on with your lesson, then."

"Now, you're going to hold your hand over your broomstick and say 'up', and once you've all got your brooms in hand we'll go over proper riding technique."

"'_Brooms in hand'_?" Harry demanded, "'_Proper riding technique_?' I think my brain has exploded."

Hermione shushed him and Hooch told them to get on with it.

"UP!" Hermione demanded, and her broomstick rolled over, but it was certainly a better response than most of his peers were getting. Harry decided that despite his very anti-broom attitude he would show them all up.

Because as everyone knows, character flaws create more drama… ask the ancient Greeks.

"Up!" Harry said, hoping he wouldn't have to yell because it would make it all the more impressive, and the broomstick flew straight up into his hand. Then thoughts assailed Harry of all the butt juice that broom had to have from all the years of students riding it, and Harry only managed to keep holding it because of all the glares he was getting from his jealous classmates.

Harry smirked at all of them and taunted, "Yeah, that just happened."

It all went downhill to the actual broom straddling part of class, and Harry really couldn't understand what exactly was so hard about riding a broomstick, and why it would need a technique.

Madam Hooch made it to him, and he was declared a natural at the broomstick straddling. Harry did not appreciate that implication…

Hooch moved onto the footwear boy that had taken to following Harry around. Harry really did _not_ appreciate that implication.

She told Boot to shift the broomstick up a little higher, and Harry could not keep his lack of appreciation for that implication to himself anymore.

"I do not appreciate that implication!" Harry exclaimed. "How dare you!"

Hooch looked away from Boot with a strange, disbelieving look on her face and she asked, "Are you all right?"

"No, I am not all right!" Harry replied, "You have insulted me! You hurt my feelings!"

Madam Hooch continued to stare at him before shaking her head, unimpressed, and continuing down the line through the rest of the students.

Harry glared at her the entire time for ignoring his poor feelings and making him straddle a broom with years of butt juice on it while she ignored him.

"I should cry or something," Harry commented. "This should definitely not pass unnoticed."

Hermione turned to Harry, her eyebrows cocked, looking very confused. "What?"

"I'm being raped by the magical world's sexual repression," Harry replied, and Hermione wasn't able to discern whether or not his dejection was real or fabricated. "I'm so being forced to ride a broomstick against my will."

"You're being overly dramatic about this," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes.

"I will admit to being dramatic," Harry told her, "but I don't think I'm being too dramatic. I think I have just the right amount of drama for such a situation."

"All right!" Hooch yelled. "You're all ready, so we're going to take off on the count of three, and don't let me catch any of you taking off a moment sooner!"

"You never said anything about flying!" Harry exclaimed, turning to look at Hooch, shocked. "I didn't agree to this!"

Harry's peers began groaning and whispering for him to shut up.

"It's a flying lesson, Harry," Hermione said in exasperated anger. "What did you think we would be doing?"

"I'm not going to fly," Harry declared. "I'm not going to do it."

"Is there any particular reason why you've got such a vendetta against riding a broomstick?" Madam Hooch demanded as she stalked over to him. "Or are you just trying to be difficult?"

"It's probably a mix of the two," Harry replied honestly, "but you're not getting my feet off the ground, I can promise you that."

"One!" Hooch yelled, "Two!"

"No!" Harry yelled, petulantly staring down Madam Hooch. "I refuse!"

She gave a rather put-upon sigh and began, "Mr. Wizard—"

"Jamesonhumperdinkel!" Harry corrected quickly and firmly, and Harry rounded on Hermione declaring, "That's why I missed class this morning! I have changed my name to Harry James Jamesonhumperdinkel! And I demand to be called such!" Harry finished dramatically, and turned to smile smugly at his fellow students.

They, however, were certainly not impressed with his name change and stared at him like he'd completely lost his mind. Hermione looked completely horrified, though, and Harry decided to take advantage of the situation.

He scoffed at Hermione and rolled his eyes, commenting dryly, "And you _wanted_ to be my friend."

"Well, Mr. Jamesonhumperdinkel," Hooch replied firmly, "Keep your mouth shut or I'll turn you over to Snape. I believe you're not overly fond of his punishments."

Harry grumbled and looked down at his toes.

"Two!" Hooch repeated, forcefully reminding all of Harry's classmates that they were still going to be flying today. "Three!"

Everyone around Harry pushed off, or tried really hard to get airborne. Harry, however, continued standing right where he was, and began glaring at Madam Hooch's shoes.

"Wiz—whatever your name is now!" Hooch yelled, "Why aren't you airborne?"

"I said I wasn't going to leave the ground and I'm not leaving the ground," Harry replied, lifting his head so that he was glaring at Madam Hooch's face… because it certainly needed to be glared at.

Hooch appeared to be livid, and at the end of her patience. She marched over to Harry, saying something about Snape, and that was more than enough for Harry; he pushed off of the ground and felt his stomach twist in a rather pleasant way as he gained altitude.

Maybe this whole riding a broomstick thing wasn't so bad...

Hooch's features were fuzzy when Harry sailed to a stop well above his classmates.

"Now!" Harry yelled down to her, "I'm not coming down, and you can't make me! Mainly because I don't know how!"


	15. Why Don't You Come Over

Thanks to all those who reviewed, I appreciated it, as always! _A special thanks to my poor beta who is sick with the flu, but still managed to beta my fic even on Christmas /glomps timydamonkey/ and if something's wrong, it's not her fault it's the nasty virus' fault._ _Also there's a bit of a massive style change this chapter...it just kinda happened, but my usual style should return in it's usual sarcastic way next chapter...I hope none of you mind too much...I think the change in style works very well for my newest character..._

**_Chapter Fifteen: Why Don't You Come Over_**

Harry had to admit that he definitely felt the love here at Hogwarts. He could feel it bouncing off the cold, stone walls of the castle. He could feel it every time he was in a classroom, or the Great Hall. He could definitely feel it now as some second year Asian girl, named Choong or something, yelled that he just sapped all of the goodness out of the world.

And while Harry had to admit he was pleased someone had finally noticed…

"Merlin, Cho, he just flies better than you; get over it!"

"Damn straight," Harry added, "I do everything better than you!"

He received quick glares from the Quidditch team captain and Choong, and the team captain continued, "Besides, you were the prodigy last year, he's the prodigy this year, who's to say another prodigy won't come along next year and knock him off the team?"

"I would love to see you _try_ to replace me," Harry declared. "I would pay money to see that."

"Besides that, he probably won't even be able to play because of his bad conduct," the captain continued.

"That is exorbitantly easy to fix," Harry declared. "Honestly." Harry turned to the captain. "You should just give up; she clearly doesn't understand that you're trying to let her down easy."

"You are a horrible, nasty boy, and I hope you get what's coming to you!"

"I do too," Harry gushed brightly to Choong, "oh, wait…it did; I'm kicking you off the Quidditch team."

"Next year," Choong said, glaring at Harry coldly, "you're only in training."

Harry felt the sides of his mouth twist into what he knew, from a lot of practice in front of Hogwarts' snickering mirrors, was a horribly wicked smirk. "Is that a challenge?"

"Merlin's beard, Cho! You know better than to talk to him." The captain growled, and at the same time, Choong pulled herself up to her full height and glared down at Harry, demanding that he respect her because of her higher status in the cult of Ravenclaw.

"Oh, yes! The Cult of Ravenclaw, how could I forget?" Harry exclaimed in completely fake shocked horror. "Oh, hail mein comrade! Forgive me, please, for forsaking the great and terrible Ravenclaw!"

Choong huffed in anger, as all Ravenclaws were want to do in the face of such blasphemy, and turned on the balls of her right foot and stormed up to her dorm. Presumably to study…_angrily_…on her bed…which was far more comfortable than the chairs in the common room.

Angry studying was the anger management choice of most Ravenclaws. Apparently, taking notes forcefully from a book one was irately reading helped the relieving of stress. Taking notes forcefully involved glaring down the words as you wrote them as though anticipating the possible implausible failure on the upcoming test. Whereas irate reading was where you would clench your jaw and read twice as fast as normal, as though it were possible to expel all anger into the book through one's eyes…and it was for precisely this reason that Harry refused to check books out from the library, because if books absorbed the anger through eyes, who's to say it doesn't transfer to another person the same way?

But, I digress.

After the Choong female stomped out of the Ravenclaw common room, Harry found himself in the direct line of vision of the seventh year boy who was leader of the cult. The leader of the cult had the look on his face that Harry was becoming quite familiar with; it was a disguised threat. This threat was hidden under a vaguely amused, yet slightly shocked expression: the type you see on people who hear a dirty joke that they can't laugh at because it would inappropriate.

But Harry sees the threat, knows the threat, and… not that he would ever admit it, fears that threat.

Because, unlike everyone else in the castle, this seventh year is dangerous and is not under the direct control of anyone in the castle that Harry has wrapped around his little finger.

Harry knows that, one day, he'll insult Ravenclaw one too many times and he'll wake up to metaphysical hell hound drool dripping onto his face because Mr. Leader of the cult will have gone down to the shores of the lake and summoned forth the hell hounds - that Harry wouldn't be surprised Ravenclaw had - to come and take him down to the depths of Hell where he belonged…

Allegedly.

But then, Harry wouldn't believe that until he was actually there.

But today, the threat was subtly different and confusing, and Harry felt his eyebrow rise along with his anxiety level. Perhaps tonight would be the night he woke to snarling metaphysical jaws and drool.

That would probably be the best, most dramatic, unbelievable way for Harry to go…it simply suited his personality: death by being dragged to the ninth level of hell by a hell hound summoned by the leader of a cult.

"Well, I'll see you in practice on Friday," the quidditch captain told Harry, who had quite frankly forgotten he was there.

Harry teased with telling the captain that.

"Please be on time, and try not to be in one of your usual moods; we really need your participation if you're going to be part of the team."

Harry turned to give the captain his very well practiced I'm-so much-better-than-you-so-why-are-you-talking-to-me look, but it was interrupted - _interrupted!! -_ by the leader of the cult.

"Harry, come over here," the leader of the cult said, patting the blue carpet next to him. This chair situation really needed to be rectified in Harry's very humble opinion; even the leader of the cult was reduced to sitting on the floor because the chairs sucked ass so hard. "I think we need to have a talk."

That sounded very cryptic.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Harry asked, mock horrified — he should probably practice his tones along with his facial expressions, but something about talking to himself rubbed him up the wrong way… even if no one could hear him. "Because I don't think I can handle this right now," he simpered.

The leader of the cult gained another expression, which was… nay on impossible to correctly describe. It was mysterious, saying all and yet nothing, and this also held a threat, but one Harry didn't understand.

Harry found himself being propelled over to the leader of the cult, and he sat down on the soft blue carpet a couple of feet away from where the leader requested he sit.

"Harry, it took me a while to figure you out, and now I have… to a certain degree on this one matter," the leader told Harry. "I know nothing about you, or what led you to be the way you are, but that doesn't really concern me because at this moment in time I believe that is who you have made yourself into. This sarcastic, trivial person is who you are at heart right now. But people can change, and I believe also that deep inside, you want to find people who won't allow themselves to be pushed away by your attitude, and if I'm right about this on any level, then I want to continue talking to you. If I'm wrong, then I still want you to remain right where you are."

This was looking like it was going to be more cryptic than Harry had previously imagined. It was made worse by the leader's calm, precise voice, which never wavered from that tone; it was rather like what Harry imagined a book that was reading itself out loud would sound like.

"When I say 'Ravenclaw', you think of the house, the establishment, an old dead lady, a cult, am I correct?"

The leader's face smoothed out into a plain, stark, thoughtful expression, and he waited… apparently this was not a rhetorical question.

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, deciding to go along with whatever this was.

"Well, the reason why Ravenclaw is so important to all of us is not because of one of these things. We don't care about these things; they aren't important to us - not even the cult or Lady Ravenclaw. What makes the cult of Ravenclaw so important to all of us is what it means, what it implies. And what the cult of Ravenclaw _is_ to all of us is the tie that binds us — all the Ravenclaws — together. All the other houses are divided in some way: gender, blood, year; but we Ravenclaws are all tied together despite these things because of the cult. Your disrespect bothers us because it means that you don't respect the fact that we try to be _one_ group that encompasses generations. The cult exists outside of Hogwarts, you know; all Ravenclaws respect and understand that the cult is not… an institution; it's a family, a relationship."

The leader of the cult turned to stare Harry down with his piercing blue eyes, strangely the exact same shade of blue as the carpet he sat on, and for some reason Harry felt chills go down his spine when the leader of the cult asked:

"And tell me, Harry, what makes a relationship healthy? What must each person do in order to have a good relationship?" The leader of the cult paused and then continued. "I would allow you to work through it yourself, but for some reason I don't believe you've ever been a part of a healthy relationship. A relationship works because each person contributes to it. All of us in the cult of Ravenclaw have something to offer to each other in order to make our relationship work. And, I look at you, Harry, and I see that you are sadly lacking in some sort of way to contribute to the Cult of Ravenclaw, or maybe you just don't want to contribute to the relationship."

The leader of the cult looked appraisingly at Harry, his bright Ravenclaw-carpet-colored eyes gleaming from his expressionless face, as though daring Harry to say to the leader of the cult that he didn't want to contribute to the cult.

The daring continued after a second and so Harry responded, "And if I don't want to contribute?"

"If you don't want to contribute, you will be unable to speak of the cult, even to cult members, which might be a problem for you because I've heard you enjoy speaking to others — like Professor Snape — about our organization. But you will be forced to remain silent about the existence of the cult, and if you speak of it, at all, you will find yourself without your full memory — not that you'd ever know that you didn't have your full memory. Beyond that, while you will still be part of Ravenclaw House because it would be quite impossible to remove you from it, you will not be able to fully interact with your housemates because they will be involved with the cult's activities. You will be alone in Ravenclaw House for the next seven years."

Yes, this conversation was definitely very cryptic, and unfortunately wasn't quite over just yet.

"And, if you want to be part of the Ravenclaw community, then you need to become part of the relationship, and so you, like everyone else, need to contribute. So if you want to belong to this house you've found yourself sorted into, then you need to be thinking about what you have to offer to the cult."

The leader of the cult stood up, his book in hand, finger holding his place, and continued staring piercingly at Harry with that strange indefinable look.

"I suppose I'll see you soon enough, Harry," the leader of the cult told Harry. "I'm going to go and try and finish my studying. I hope you think about what I said and decide to find something to offer to your housemates. None of us want you to be alone in this; that's why the cult exists in the first place, after all."

The leader of the cult turned around and walked over to the hallway that led to the boys dormitories. Harry stood up then and looked around the common room, finding several of his housemates staring at him from their various places in the room, only the brave sitting on the chairs and couches. Harry felt vaguely uncomfortable from the appraising stares and dusted his butt off before also retreating into the dorm.

* * *

Merry Christmas everyone, enjoy your holidays! Happy New Years just in case I can't get to a computer anytime soon... 


	16. Wicked Ways

Much love to you guys who have given me my highest ten multiple in reviews: 1000, that's pretty impressive guys. Thanks! Also, love for timydamonkey who gave me that excellent first line of the chapter and betaed...

**_Chapter Sixteen: Wicked Ways_** (aka: my fave scene in all of So Sue Me)

Though Harry was seriously unnerved by the cult leaders... cultliness... he refused to be deterred, and was noticeably back to his usual self next morning, and glaring at people who might mention his... silentness... last night.

Of course, his return to his typical attitude didn't exactly stop Harry from thinking more than he would like to admit about the discussion he'd had with the leader of the cult. Did he really want to be utterly alone…? Not that he would ever be truly alone with _Boot_ following him all over the place, complaining about missing _socks_.

Well… maybe Harry was exaggerating about the socks, maybe Boot was asking for him to pass the sausage, but really, Harry didn't have time for sausage! He needed to figure out whether or not these cult people were really a force to be reckoned with, and Boot's natterings were not helping.

Harry groaned as Boot turned to Hormone and began discussing how chafed his feet were because he was missing socks, and rolled his eyes, which made him look at the ceiling of the Great Hall—

And, dear god, no! No! There was no way! But yes, yes there was!

Voldemrot was here, flying down in that haughty I'm-going-to-destroy-your-life way to the Ravenclaw table. Apparently, the prospect of excommunication from Ravenclaw Cult was not enough for the fates to keep Harry's evil owl away from him.

Voldemrot landed on top of a pile of apples, housed within a huge bowl.

Harry glared at her, and Voldemrot ruffled his white feathers and hooted once, arrogantly.

A staring contest commenced.

Harry's narrowed eyes were met by Voldemrot's innocently wide, yellow eyes, which may have fooled others, but not Harry. Harry knew that no good could come from that damned owl.

"What a pretty owl!" Hormone exclaimed brightly, as she held out a piece of bacon for the evil, foul fowl. Voldemrot gave Harry a smug look as she turned to accept the piece of bacon, and Harry's glare increased in magnitude.

"I will destroy you," Harry hissed to Voldemrot.

Voldemrot was unaffected, and was even preening under Hormone's attention.

Harry's glare intensified even further, and he pointed to Voldemrot and declared, "I will not be intimidated, Voldemrot!"

Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at Harry as though he had gone insane.

Harry glared at all of them, before fixing his glare on the very amused Voldemrot once more.

"Listen," Harry declared, "it's my stupid owl; I'll do what I want."

The stare-off re-commenced, with a vengeance.

"I didn't know you had an owl," Boot said brightly. "It's really pretty, is it a boy or a girl owl?"

Harry was too occupied with staring Voldemrot down to answer the question (not that he would have anyway). Voldemrot stared back at him, her wide yellow eyes unblinking… duh… from her perch on top of the massive bowl of apples.

She was haughty… too haughty. She knew something.

"I don't believe in you," Harry hissed to Voldemrot as he narrowed his eyes again.

Voldemrot shifted her feathers a bit and turned her head slightly as though to imply that she was not a fairy and would not be affected by his lack of belief (by the way, Harry fully supports and believes in fairies, who do exist).

Boot poked Harry in the side and asked again, "Is it a boy or a girl owl, Harry?"

Harry turned to glare at Boot and replied, "As demon spawn, Voldemrot does not have a sex or gender like normal owls."

"_Voldemrot_?!" Hermione demanded in more than slight outrage. "You named your owl Voldemrot?"

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, as though it was a perfectly obvious choice for a name, and let's face it, the owl was evil, like its namesake. "What's wrong with 'Voldemrot'? I think it's a fantastic name for the bastard… or would it be bitch because she's technically female?"

"Didn't you just say that your owl didn't have a gender?" some random upper-classman ribbed as though such an argument actually mattered in the great scheme of things.

"Harry, you can't go around calling your owl Voldemrot," Hermione told Harry in response.

"I don't see why not," Harry replied. "I can pretty much do anything else I want."

"As comical as your interaction with your owl may seem, you must realize that you can't name your owl after the man who killed your parents." Hermione groaned. "It's not right, and it could be taken the wrong way."

"I think it's a good passive-aggressive way of not supporting the big baddie," Harry replied. "I mean, can you see it?" He asked with a grin. "Hey, 'guy that killed my parents and supposedly most evil guy ever next to Hitler and the devil', I named my female owl that I bought on sale after you, and managed to somehow make the name comical! I don't know about you, but if someone did that to me, I would be seriously POed."

Hermione gave a very put-upon sigh and tried again. "Couldn't you name your owl something else, though?"

"You know," Harry commented as though he hadn't heard her, "in France it's illegal to name your pig Napoleon because the big guy didn't want the passive-aggressiveness."

"I don't think that was it," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

"Sure it was; what else would it have been?" Harry asked with a raised brow.

"Him trying to preserve his image," Hermione suggested.

"From the passive-aggressiveness!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up, fork loaded down with food in hand. The food went flying over his head and landed on a Gryffindor's cheek. "If you weren't passive-aggressive, there would be no need to name your pig Napoleon; you would just go and kill the man!"

"What about a nick-name?" Hermione demanded, since her other avenue of suggestions weren't working.

"You're quite right," Harry replied sternly. "Voldemrot is a very long name and entirely too much effort considering the circumstances."

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed. "You need to shorten your owl's name."

"Or we could just call it my owl, like you do," Harry suggested. "Couldn't help but notice that you pointedly don't call my owl by name."

"And you know good and well why," Hermione shot back.

"Ooh, snarky," Harry taunted. "Don't see why you put up with me."

"Because it annoys you that I do," Hermione bit back. "Nicknames!"

"If you're so concerned about the little twat, why don't you take her?" Harry demanded. "I would much prefer a cat."

"So would I," Hermione replied with a smirk. "Now, nicknames!"

"I can see you've got a one-track mind," Harry teased. "I'm sure your boyfriend will like that."

"Aren't you the one always going on about how you're too young to do any of that stuff?" Hermione demanded. "Well, hello, I'm eleven!"

"Hello!" Harry replied. "I'm Harry, nice to meet you, Eleven, whatever happened to One through Ten?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and replied dryly, "My parents change my name every year."

"Oh my god!" Harry exclaimed like he'd just been inspired to write a whole novel. "I'll change my last name, constantly, to reflect my current occupation!"

"That way everyone will hate you more, because no one gives a damn," Hermione commented sarcastically.

Harry stared at her in absolute amazement and replied, awed, "It's like you're reading my mind!"

Hermione groaned loudly enough to attract a good deal of attention and slammed her head down on the table.

Harry looked at her for a moment and then continued on with, "But what would we nickname Voldemrot, anyway? Voldie, Vold, Voldem, Vol, Voler? Voler's French, it—"

"You're completely exasperating; you know that, don't you?" Hermione asked.

"Well, you're an ass-perk-ating too," Harry replied brightly. "What about Rot? I personally think that's the best of the batch."

"What about Em?" Hermione suggested.

Harry turned to glare at her and replied, "You know, you're the only person that could take Voldemrot and make a feminine nickname out of it."

"Thank you," Hermione replied with a rather endearing smirk, not that Harry would ever admit it. "I really do try."


	17. When I Grow Up

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed, even though I haven't seen a lot of them because review alerts are down!!! and I'm sure we all know how bitchy can be about loading things like reviews and new chapters...anyway, I love you all even if I don't know if you love me...

And timydamonkey gets major props for this chap, she was the one who suggested I write the troll, and she came up with some of the conversations and quips Harry, Hermione, and Boot throw around while running away from the troll...and she betaed...and she's just an overall cool person...and um...she's on crack, love her...or something

Anywho, I don't own disney, though I do own disney movies (w00t) and I quote the obscenely rich J.K. Rowling this chapter...I do not own what Quirrel says about the troll...and just because it fits here I also don't own Harry Potter and everyone else in this fic, except for Ruebella and the leader of the cult...who I will only own until I find some random seventh year ravenclaw to name him after

_**Chapter Seventeen: When I Grow Up**_

Well, it was only two months since school had begun, three weeks since the cult leader had threatened Harry, and a week and a half since Harry was banned from all Quidditch games for the rest of the year because of a few innocent comments and gestures he'd made. Harry seriously didn't see the problem; it wasn't as if he'd done it where everyone could see!

As reserve/in-training seeker, he was in the stands with the Ravenclaws… cheering for the Hufflepuffs, but really, it was not that big a deal!

And yet, Harry had been serving detention every day since!

These people were _so_ discriminatory.

Snape threw the door open and glared down his long, beak-of-a nose at Harry, which for some reason made him think of vultures in some Disney movie.

"Despite my misgivings, it has been agreed upon by your Head of House and Dumbledore that it would be," Snape sneered, "_okay_ for you to go."

Harry had been expecting this, since he'd whined about never being allowed to do anything on Halloween to Auntie Minerva. Snape couldn't have timed this better; Harry was about to start re-reading the most boring chapter of _Hogwarts, A History_.

Harry jumped up from the uncomfortable chair that Snape forced him to sit in, and held out the book to Snape, who glared at Harry.

"I personally believe a bit of discipline would do you a world of good, and the same could be said for many of your classmates," Snape declared in his Snape-ish way. "This is why you will be making this detention up come Saturday."

Harry made his best innocent-yet-smug look, and trying to match his voice to his look (he really needed to get a tape recorder or something), replied, "Isn't that what you said about tonight's detention, professor?"

Snape sneered down at him imperiously… and yes; he definitely looked a lot like a cartoon-ish vulture. "Go."

"With great and infinite pleasure," Harry replied with an over-exaggerated salute.

Harry quickly left Snape's office and bounded happily down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast.

The hallways were silent, which wasn't surprising considering Harry was about thirty minutes late for the feast. Not that it was his fault…

Correction: not that he would admit it was his fault.

Harry picked up his speed so he wouldn't miss any more of the feast, and was soon running; he wouldn't get into any trouble because no one was there. Harry briefly entertained doing something kinda bad, since no one was there to see — but he decided against it. Something told him it wouldn't be the best idea.

Harry skidded to a stop in the Entrance Hall and took distinct pleasure in actually being able to hear the loud noise. And surprisingly, the doors to the school were open; Harry had been under the impression that they closed when it got dark… but whatever.

"Mr. Ja-a-ames-s-s-son—"

Harry quickly spun around to look for the poor professor with the speech impediment and the rotten name. Harry seriously felt sorry for the man; he must have been teased more than Harry had ever been before he'd learned that a thesaurus and a few well-aimed insults went a long way on the playground.

"Hello, Professor Squirrel!" Harry greeted brightly, and he couldn't help but notice that the poor man seemed to be developing a twitch — and so young too! "Having a pleasant night?"

"Ye-yes," Squirrel replied. "W-Why are you n-n-not at th-th-the feas-st?"

"On my way now," Harry replied. "I had detention. Why aren't _you_ at the feast?"

Now that Harry thought about it, it was kind of suspicious. Not even Snape had missed an entire Halloween feast, or any other feast. He might have missed it for the first time tonight, but since he had no detention to oversee, he should be along shortly.

"A-a-allergic-c to pu-pu-pum-pk-k-kins." Squirrel replied simply.

Harry wondered what the man drank at dinner then, if he was allergic to pumpkin juice. But he shrugged it off, and declared that he was going to go to the feast.

"I'll talk to you later, Professor Squirrel!"

Harry quickly darted into the Great Hall, and was momentarily awed by the decorations before heading over to the Ravenclaw table, where Hormone and Boot sat.

Hormone didn't blink when Harry all but pushed her out of the way so he could sit down, but she did say, "I thought you had detention."

"So did Professor Snape," Harry replied with a grin. "How's that for a coincidence?"

"How'd you get out of it?" Boot asked curiously.

"I asked," Harry replied. "It's not as hard as you people make it out to be. You think I'm, like, bamboozling everyone, but I'm not… much."

Dinner continued on in that manner, with Squirrel missing — there were a lot of pumpkins around, Harry had to admit — and Snape showing up a while after Harry, not looking the least bit happy to be at the feast.

Then, a little before the feast was scheduled to end, Squirrel showed up looking terrified of something. Harry suspected he'd found a spider in his room and needed someone to kill it for him.

"'Troll in the dungeon!'" Squirrel gasped. "'I thought you ought to know.'"

Then he passed out.

Harry rose his eyebrows and he asked, "Think he was having a nightmare?"

"Why would he lie about something like that?" Hormone demanded. "I can't see a Professor yelling 'fire' without there actually being a fire."

Harry opened his mouth, and Hermione added, "Not everyone's like you, you know."

"Better question," Boot said. "Why wasn't he stuttering?"

Harry had to agree with Boot; it was very suspicious, "Now that you mention it, Squirrel was out in the hallway before I came to the feast."

Boot nodded. "Something weird is going on."

"You're honestly accusing a teacher of letting a troll into the school?" Hormone demanded hormonally.

"No!" Harry and Boot replied together.

"I'm quite sure he just mistook a gargoyle for a troll," Harry replied. "He wouldn't be able to tell a troll from his foot if one bit him."

"Exactly," Boot agreed brightly. Harry figured he might not be so bad… sometimes…

Then Dumbledore called for the Prefects and Head Children to lead all the House members back to their Common Rooms.

"Yeah," Harry yelled loudly. "Let's all go out into the castle where the troll is!"

Everyone froze in place, and turned to look to the teachers to see if they had a good response to that.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said slowly, "it might be best if we all remained here."

"Right then," Harry declared, rubbing his hands together. "Let's go!"

"Go where?" Hermione and Boot demanded.

"To find out what's up Squirrel's ass!"

* * *

"This is insanity," Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "Let's go back before we do end up getting killed; at least that way they might not even notice that we left." 

"Nope, we're going to find this troll… or figure out what's going on — hide!"

Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and they both ran behind a suit of armor.

Snape stalked past their hiding place, clearly heading somewhere rather than wandering aimlessly for a troll… not to mention, he was going the wrong way. Snape was heading upstairs and the troll was supposedly in the dungeons.

"Now do you believe me? Something's going on here!" Harry hissed to Hermione.

"Is Snape behind it?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"No, but I think he knows what's going on," Harry replied. "I swear to God, it's Squirrel."

Once they decided it was safe, the two came out from their hiding place.

"Hey, guys!" a voice exclaimed from behind them, and Harry quickly moved back toward the suit of armor, but then Boot appeared and began jogging up to Harry and Hermione. "I thought I lost you two."

"And for a moment," Harry sighed softly, "I was happy."

Boot shoved Harry playfully. "How could you guys leave me behind?"

"You act as though we'd planned on having you here in the first place," Harry retorted.

"Pssh, you wouldn't have done anything without me and Hermione," Boot replied. "You'd need an audience."

"I resent that!"

"Anyway, you're going the wrong way; all the teachers are down that way, near the girl's loo," Boot replied, pointing vaguely in the direction of said loo. "I saw them heading that way while I was looking for you guys."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Harry exclaimed. "Someone to catch us? Let's go!"

He headed off down the hallway, and Hermione and Boot followed… after all, they had their choice: the professors, the troll or Harry… and Harry seemed to be the least dangerous choice… kind of…

Once they reached the loo, which was, thankfully, devoid of teachers, the three students turned to look at each other.

"So, where to now?" Hermione asked, her voice smug, and clearly taunting Harry. Harry wondered if she practiced that tone of voice; if so, she was clearly getting ahead of him in the act-like-brat area, and Harry direly needed to catch up in order to keep from being outdone. Maybe he could steal Hormone's tape recorder and kill two birds with one stone.

That was actually a good idea.

"Hello, Mr. Genius, where are we going to go now?"

Harry quickly assessed his environment and then replied, "Well, duh, down the dark, foreboding hallway."

"Which dark, foreboding hallway?" Hermione sighed. "In case you missed it, there _are_ two."

Harry sent her his 'I'm not impressed' look and replied, "If you want to get snippy, you can go look for the troll yourself."

"Harry's probably right; Quirrel probably thought that some suit of armor was a troll and panicked," Boot replied.

"He was probably high at the time too," Harry agreed; it was appearing that Boot really wasn't all that bad to have around. "It would explain the fainting. In fact, I bet that's exactly what happened! Squirrel got high, thought he saw a troll, went into a drug – and hallucination - induced panic, and terrorized the whole school."

"The drugs would explain the stuttering too," Boot agreed, nodding.

"Probably keeps them in his turban," Harry added.

Hermione looked at a complete loss, and then turned on her heel and stomped down one of the dark, foreboding hallways.

"Hey, Hormone!" Harry called. "If Squirrel was high, then that means there was no troll, so we don't have to look for one!"

"No!" Hermione replied, hands on her hips, head cocked up. "We're going to find the troll, just to prove that you're an idiot!"

"She's acting like we actually _have_ to find the troll," Harry muttered, and then he immediately hoped Boot didn't hear him.

* * *

"Wow," Harry commented dryly to Hermione as the three stared into the hall where the girls' loo was. "We should definitely follow you more often." 

"On the one hand," Boot said, "we'd never get lost."

"Yeah," Harry replied, staring pointedly at Hermione. "Because we'd end up right. where. we. started!"

Then the three of them heard a strange shuffling noise, and turned around, thinking they'd been caught.

"And here I was thinking it was _you_ that smelled funny, Hormone," Harry murmured, for there before them, scratching its head with a club as big as a horse, was proof that Harry was an idiot.

"That is _not_ helping," Hermione hissed back, apparently frozen in place, not that Harry or Boot were in better condition.

"Well, technically, neither are you," Boot whispered, his voice almost inaudible.

"I'm sorry," Harry hissed, "but isn't there a more pressing issue here?"

Apparently, something in Harry's voice hit the troll's eardrum just right, because it slowly teetered and creaked its way around so that it was facing the three first years. Then it swung its club down from its head and tilted its head, looking at them in a way that made Harry fear for his life… _and_ his virtue.

"Oh. _Shit_." Boot breathed.

The troll took one lumbering step forward, and Harry took a deep breath, started screaming, and took off running, Hermione and Boot following his example.

They skidded their way down the dark, foreboding hallway — that's what happens when you don't wear no skid soles — arms and robes flying, their voices echoing off the stone walls, past the _entire faculty of Hogwarts._

"Get back here!" one of the female faculty members called, and in response the three of them ran around a corner.

They reached the Hogwarts Entrance Hall, and Harry ran straight to the Great Hall.

"No!" Hermione yelled, grabbing Harry's wrist and pulling him in the opposite direction. "Away from the Great Hall!"

"Hell no!" Harry yelled back. "If I die, I'm taking everyone with me!"

"Some hero you are!"

"Hey! That's my forehead you're talking about!"

They retreated into another hallway, and found themselves face to face with Squirrel.

"Wait," Boot said, out of breath, tilting his head. "Aren't you supposed to be unconscious?"

"Or high," Harry muttered under his breath, getting elbowed by Hermione for his efforts.

"Sir, the troll's still loose," Hermione gasped. "You should go and help the other professors!"

"Get their fix — ouch!"

Sounds of battle came from behind them.

"Oh, shit, we're all going to die!" Boot whimpered.

"Actually…" Harry muttered, looking at Squirrel appraisingly.

"No! I cannot believe you!" Hermione yelled.

"Shut up!" Harry hissed to her. "You'll leave it to us! Besides, we're young, we've got our whole lives ahead of us!"

"Yeah, he just smells like garlic," Boot agreed.

Hermione stared at them in growing shock and outrage.

"And it's his job to take care of us anyway!" Harry continued. "Besides that, how stupid is it for them to let a troll into a _school_, anyway?

"They didn't let the troll in!" Hermione all but shrieked.

"That's beside the point!" Harry turned to Squirrel, who was staring at him like he was a giant amoeba - which Harry thought would be kinda cool - in an effort to try to convince the professor. "You're not a good teacher unless you'll take a troll for your students! Look at all the other professors!" As if on cue, one of them was thrown across the floor just outside of their hallway, and the troll lumbered forth, sniffing loudly.

It turned to them and headed down the hallway.

Hermione looked decidedly green; Harry wasn't sure what turn of events made it so, but he was pretty sure it was the troll's reek.

As the troll slowly trudged forward, Harry realized rescue was not coming, not even from Squirrel. It appeared he had to take matters into his own hands in order to save his own ass.

"Sorry, Professor!" Harry exclaimed as he fumbled for his wand. "This is going to hurt us more than it's going to hurt you!"

"This is true, considering we're not going to be learning crap about defense, and we'll be expelled — if we don't go to jail!" Hermione muttered, but Harry couldn't help but notice she wasn't actively protesting.

"On the bright side, at least we're only first years so we won't be too far behind when we go back to Muggle school," Harry said as he pointed his wand at Squirrel, who was an interesting shade of grey, and yelled, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Squirrel flew straight up and then was jerked toward the troll as Harry whipped his wand around.

The troll was knocked back a little, but took its anger out on Squirrel.

Harry, Boot, and Hermione watched in horror… and then began screaming again, running away as best they could considering the floor was slowly becoming slick with blood.

Unfortunately, they ran right into the teachers.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god…" Boot chanted.

"What are you three doing?" Auntie Minerva demanded coldly.

"The troll has Professor Quirrel!" Hermione blurted out, looking more scared of this than she did of the troll.

"It's horrible!" Harry yelled, horrified at how high pitched his voice was. "You have to go save him!"

"Wait, one minute, how did you three get out of the Great Hall?"

"Left it unlocked," Harry suggested blearily. "I swear to god, you people are trying to kill us! A troll! A fucking troll in the dungeon! Leaving doors unlocked! And oh my god, it's _killing Professor Squirrel!"_

"Professor _Squirrel_?" one of the professors demanded. "Mr. Jamesonhumperdinkel!"

"You know," Harry yelled, "for every minute you chide us, Professor Squirrel is losing a body part!"

That seemed to get the message across… well; it might've been Professor Squirrel's scream…

"We'll discuss your disrespect later, young man," Auntie Minerva told Harry as she ran down the hallway along with the other teachers.

"Poor man's probably having his fingernails pulled out one by one," Harry muttered.

"And whose fault is that?" Hermione demanded.

"The man's clearly incompetent!" Harry replied defensively. "Can't even fight off a troll!"

"We are _so_ screwed," Boot muttered, sounding traumatized… Harry and Hermione probably were too.

"You're welcome," Harry replied empathetically.


End file.
